Deception & Concealment
by KissThis
Summary: Voldemort is dead; Harry bitter. In order to save him and her world, Hermione does the unimaginable and the illegal - disguised as a boy she goes back to the Marauders' Era, but finds herself in a sticky situation of love. [OT3: JP x HG x SB]
1. It's A Boy

**Completed:** (4/23/05) 8:50 PM  
**Posted: **(4/30/05) 10:00 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N:_ I'm SO excited for this story, let me tell you. We've actually got some bonafide humor coming out, though there was some necessary angst in this first chapter. Enjoy! This shall be my new project since TR is on its way down…

* * *

A young, Harry Potter stood with his hand shielding the late evening sun from his perspiring brow – the rolled up sleeves of his school shirt a testament to the Indian summer heat. His companion, a vibrant red-head looking non-too perky himself in the abysmal heat, was sprawled out on the itchy grass beside him attempting to fan cool air onto his face by the power of his flapping tie alone.

"What's this sudden interest in Quidditch, anyhow?" he asked the young witch flying above his head, Quaffle in hand – though she was still shaking from the anxiety she'd had first mounting the broomstick, and her hands clutched the smooth wood with strangling grip had the broom been anything but inanimate.

"Oh..." she stammered; clearly not welcoming the diversion of her attention on not falling off. "Well, you know. Ought to try everything at least once..."

She shot for the center hoop of the pitch, and though she was only a dozen or so feet away, it ricocheted off the rim and fell to the ground. "Oh drats..." she swore, and began gradually circling down to retrieve the pitifully immobile ball. She'd made it the past two times, honest!

"You're, uh, doing better?" Harry called up placatingly.

Ron snorted with laughter on the grass and Harry kicked him in the side with a pointed look.

"Really?" She asked, hopefully. Feet planted firmly on the ground and Harry's broom held securely between her knees, she cradled the Quaffle to her chest with both arms.

Harry looked uncomfortable and as he scratched the back of his head he sent her a sheepish glance. "Well, at least you're flying, right?"

The witch's face crumbled and she groaned. "I'm really that awful?"

"Why don't _you_ field that question, Ron," Harry suggested genially before kicking him in her general direction.

Rubbing ruefully at his quite unnecessarily abused rump, Ron clapped his hands together and took a deep breath – the two qualifying signs that for the next minute and a half whatever sentence, whatever syllable that escaped his mouth would be complete and utter rubbish. It was good that he gave them a warning system.

"You see, Hermione," he began with exaggerated solemnity, addressing the witch. "Harry here...is like an acorn."

Harry slapped his forehead with a groan and Hermione muttered something along her usual lines of "honestly, Ronald". But like a Hufflepuff set on the trail of cake, he kept going. He _always_ kept going.

"Do you know how far you can chuck a bloody acorn?"

The worst was when they actually had to participate in his _obviously_ drug induced lectures. Hermione elbowed Harry roughly and the face he made looked like something one would find in a _Horse & Hound_ magazine. No offense to Harry, obviously.

"No...Ron..." he monotoned with a roll of his eyes. It wasn't like the blind wanker could see him anyway. "_How_ far?"

Looking quite pleased with himself for "involving the audience", an annoyingly beaming – and, oh yeah, _drugged_ – Ron waggled a finger knowingly at the pair who were ritualistically counting down the minute and a half.

"Let's just say, mate, that if you were standing on top of the blooming Ministry and have me chuck an acorn right for ya scar...I would not bet against me." Completely oblivious to the embarrassed looks being sent to his deranged self, Ron continued quickly so as to make his completely nonsensical analogy make sense – if that made sense. "You, 'Mione...are a _watermelon_."

Hermione's jaw dropped straight open like a watermelon was actually about to be crammed down her throat and Harry stared bug-eyed at his soon-to-be-brutally-bludgeoned best mate in horror.

"You _cannot _be chucked." Ron liked to make sure he had a plenty deep hole so Hermione wouldn't have to dirty her hands digging his grave herself. "In fact you're just big and clumsy and...well, un-acorn like."

Using the mathematical equation that involved the number of veins throbbing in Hermione's face, plus the additional factor of the hot day, and multiplied by the number of seconds it took for fear to dawn on Ron's face, Harry determined that the redhead's minute and a half was _definitely_ up.

"Did you...just call me a _watermelon_?" She seethed.

Ron scooched back a couple of feet on the pitch turf, but Hermione regained the distance by a few angry strides. "I was just, uh, saying...you might not be built for Quidditch, tha's all. Really, Hermione..." He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Don't you mind it..."

Very slowly – in that creepy ax-murderer sort of slow-motion action – Hermione looked down at the offending hand touching her shoulder as if she were memorizing each line of his fingers for when she'd hex them off one by one with slow, painful, _agonizing_ curses. Ron gulped.

"You're _dead_," she hissed.

Ron took off running with Hermione in hot pursuit, swinging Harry's firebolt over her head. "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! YOU HAD _BETTER_ RUN!"

Harry gagged like some perfectly innocent woman who'd just been taking a leisurely, if rather sweltering, walk through some unnamed park when a GIANT medusa, complete with hissing hair and poorly dental-worked teeth, had leapt out of the bushes with the grace of a paparazzi and snatched his baby right out of its carriage.

"NOT MY BROOM!" He yelled, chasing down the cat and dog duo, praying that Ron could outrun the blustering witch before she caught up with him and tried to use the firebolt like a nightstick.

* * *

Hermione Granger came rocketing back to the present world as her bedroom door was nearly slammed off his hinges by the violent banging occurring on the other side of it. Scrounging her grimy wand up off the disorganized bedside table, she quickly snatched the memory back up out of the pensieve and let it slither back into her temple. The stone basin she shoved roughly across the bedspread, sloshing some of the smoking liquid onto her bedspread, staining the floral pattern.

Holding her dressing gown shut tighter up around her neck she hurried to the door and quickly undid each locking charm she'd placed upon it, knowing with each counter-spell and continuing pounds that she was about to pay the consequences for the precautions. At the last mumbled word, the door was flung open into her face and she stumbled back into the wall, eyes tearing from the sharp sting.

Painfully gripping fingers encircled her upper arms, dragging her further into the room with a kicking shut of the door. Clutching to her robe still, Hermione tipped her head back slightly and blinked the reflexive tears back into her eyes.

"Why was the door locked?"

Hermione bravely met the eyes of Harry James Potter. Most weren't allowed, and of those that were able, only a few could do it. It was always when she stared into his empty poison-colored eyes that she marveled at how the wizarding world could have been led so astray. They had thought _Voldemort_ was the problem. If Riddle had been the dark shadow in the nighttime that frightened children as they looked out their windows, then Harry was the snake lying coiled beneath their beds.

His angry face invaded her vision and his hold on her arm tightened to muscle bruising pain. He may have the entire school under his thumb, but what he probably hadn't bargained on was Hermione. She still loved him.

"I didn't want to be disturbed, Harry," she answered softly, holding to the truth of the statement in the forefront of her mind as she felt his legilimency take hold of her and begin riffling through her mind. Whether or not he caught sight of her recent use of the pensieve, he made no comment on it.

"I was watching your defeat of the Dark Lord again," she recited, in as earnest a tone as she'd practiced.

His lips curled back into a smirk and he let go of her arm to flop back on her bed, sloshing more of the staining syrup onto her bedspread. Hermione left it, no longer even cringing at the reckless carelessness for her possession – to do so would only result in more yelling from Harry. Instead, she hovered just off to the side of the bed as he folded his arms behind his head and crossed his muddy feet over her poor, abused comforter.

"Wonderful wasn't it?"

Hermione nodded to mollify him, though past experience told him he was hardly aware of her presence when reliving the "final battle" as it had been dubbed.

"Little Harry Potter can't stop the big bad Snake Man," Harry mocked. He made a sound of disgust. "I fucking ruined him before I could even walk. No thanks to my weak parents..."

Hermione forced her eyes to remained open, but her pain and pity for the arrogant boy before her clenched around her tired heart like a vice. The Harry she had known as a child would never have talked so bitterly about his parents. To Hermione, that was the worse part of her dearest friend's post-war transformation. Lily and James had given their lives to save his; _never_ was that weakness.

"Well no one's going to forget that I'm the bloody hero now, are they?" He kicked his legs off the bed and stood up with a new bounce to his step. Her comforter was beyond repair. "I never had a happy moment as a child, but I've done my citizenly duty for the next millennium..." He flung his arms out wide, and the laughter that came next was twisted, and almost that of a madman. "I _saved the sodding world_. Now I'm just collecting on seventeen years of hell..."

Hermione watched him laugh with sad eyes. Perhaps everything he'd gone through had irrevocably altered him; the death of his parents, the death of Sirius, being set up by a prophecy to kill the most evil wizard alive. But Hermione had always, _always_ believed that he'd been born with the innate ability to persevere; for never through all his trials and tribulations did he once lose sight of himself or of the path his life would take. Finally killing Voldemort had just been the climax of it all.

With the combined power of Lily and James flowing through his veins and the bitterness that came from being forced into having Voldemort's blood on his hands...Harry, her Harry, had become an arrogant soul, obsessed with getting retribution for all his suffering. And poor Dumbledore still felt the guilt from the decision to leave him in the Dursley's care all those years ago.

Still, Hermione loved him. Loved him to the point where she would do anything to return her friend to his former self.

"Let's not be locking the door again, alright?"

Hermione whirled around to find him standing back in the doorway. His expression still carried the jovial lilt of a not quite whole mind, but the anger was brimming just beneath the surface in the threatening words he gave her.

"I won't," she murmured, daring to meet his eyes again. "I promise."

Conflict raged inside of her, causing her to bit her tongue so hard it bled in her anxiety. He was halfway out the door when she finally let it out. "Goodbye, Harry."

He paused, giving her an odd, appraising look, and then closed the door. Hermione sighed. She hadn't really been expecting him to reciprocate the parting, but she wondered if he had subconsciously realized that those would be the last words ever passed between them.

She began to strip down, throwing her dressing gown on the soiled bed – it was tattered and badly in need of repair anyway. Left in just her skivvies she peeled off her brassier and dropped that on the floor as well. She wouldn't need it. Now in only a pair of lumpy woolen socks and white cotton underwear, she summoned with her wand the teapot that had been lying, disused on its side, for the part month. From inside it she pulled the shrunken suitcases that held whatever she was able to bring with her. She stuffed them into her socks.

With one last cursory look at the now-disreputable Head Girl rooms she'd occupied for the past three months, Hermione flicked off the lights and scrambled on all fours into her spacious closest – its floor now covered with cobwebs and worse. The door left open a hairline crack so as not to be caught unawares, should anyone try to barge in, she crawled as far back into the empty clothes racks as she could. Hermione conjured a tiny _lumos_ spell and shielded it from the door with her body.

Propped up against the far wall was a dusty mirror, disturbed around the edges by her fingerprints. She went up on her knees and pulled from behind it the roll of medical bandages she'd nicked from the infirmary two weeks ago when she'd gone in for a head cold. Her breasts had always been small, and though the other girls had called it poor genetics, she'd never been gladder of them than at this moment. Holding the end of the bandage down at her side, Hermione sucked in as much as she could and both quickly and efficiently began tightly wrapping the cloth around her chest. Securing the constricting bandage with a tap of her wand, Hermione turned to few her profile in the mirror. She was completely flat-chested.

Still trying to adjust to breathing shallowly, she crawled with shielded wand in hand to the rack that held her less commonly used shoes. Inside her rain boots was a pair of muggle scissors. Taking up a deep breath to gather her courage, Hermione fisted her mass of hair into a ponytail behind her and began to brutally chop through it. The thick bundles of hair fell down onto her feet and down around her knees, and though she'd always considered the bushy hair a hassle, seeing it in a growing pile on the floor made her think it hadn't been that bad after all.

Not 'til the deed was done, did she dare to look into the warped mirror. While it looked as though she'd taken a razor blade to her hair, it was now hewn up to her chin for the longer strands, while the smaller curls twisted close to her scalp. Of course, there was no use bellyaching – she'd get used to it eventually. Reaching up, she jostled a precariously suspended hanger from the bar and snapped it in half near the bend. Pulling at the string that fell free from the break, she yanked out a tightly packed and shrunken bundle of clothes. She dressed quickly, fearing that any minute Harry would return and find her as she was.

The final piece of the puzzle was hidden within the outside knob of the closet door. Working at a frantic pace, Hermione removed said knob and instantly slowed her actions to a crawl as she pulled the chained hourglass from inside the gears' hollow space. Cradling her most prized possession against her chest, she resealed the knob with one hand, re-closed the door and hurried back to her mirror.

As she hung the heavy chain around her neck, Hermione caught sight of herself in the mirror and the thought that struck her was a sorrowing one. If Ginny had still been alive she would have had a fit at what Hermione had done to herself. After years of "acting like one of the boys", she finally looked the part.

She cupped the tiny hourglass in her hand and stayed her rush a moment. The time turner itself had been in the works for two long months of sleepness nights and tense mornings sneaking out of range of the Marauders Map to work on the device in Hogsmeade. This tiny trinket was the only one of its kind – the only one designed to send the user back _years_ not hours.

The letters she'd written burned holes in her hands, so great was her anxiety to lay them down and go, but doubt was now eating away at her conscience.

Would it be better to simply..._disappear_? Or could she cope with herself having left the friend she loved more than life itself a letter telling him that she was going back in time to fix his life – or, if she had to, stop it from existing completely? But who knew how time worked anyhow...the minute she left, everything she would be about to do in the past could've already occurred to her present Harry and Ron...he might not even be alive any longer to read her letter.

One by one, she uncurled the stiff fingers that had now changed their minds and were insistent on keeping the cursed letters in their grasp. The wrinkled envelopes and their parchments fluttered to the dirty carpet beside her shorn hair and the broken clothes hanger.

"Hermione!"

She jumped and quickly turned the separate dials on the time turner before sending it spinning. The last thing she saw was one angry emerald eye trying to peer through the crack in the door.

* * *

Hermione hit her landing in less than perfect-ten style. Her bum collided into a stiff wooden chair with such force that her teeth rattled in her jaw and she swore her eyes were about ready to pinball their way out. She gripped the seat of the chair to ensure she didn't go toppling off and tried to focus on whose desk it was she was sitting before.

"Never traveled by portkey before, have you Mr. Granger?"

Hermione quickly reassessed what she knew. Unlike the careless time travelers one read about in the history books that got killed by the good guys in the confusion, or maybe even made a tasty, barbecued snack for a fearsome dragon or whatnot they happened to appear in the company of, Hermione had set the complete groundwork for her arrival. The first test she'd made of her modified time turner had been to go back and send a letter to the past Dumbledore explaining her boy-self's "lamentable situation" and an official ministry document of the era, made for her in secret by Shacklebolt, to confirm she was who she was pretending to be: Harry Christopher Granger.

Hermione didn't hold it against her usually quick-minded Transfiguartion Mistress – for it was her desk she'd fallen in front of – to confuse her time travel with the similar effects of a portkey. After all, time turners hadn't even been invented yet. Taking a deep breath, Hermione began the constructed part she was to play for whoever knew how long.

"No, Professor McGonagall, but it _has_ been awhile," she answered politely. Thankfully, her voice had always been the low tone of an alto, so it wasn't that much of a stress to lower it the few notes to a low tenor. There were voice altercation spells of course, but they ran out after only a few hours and she was certain someone would decipher the spell eventually if she had to keep casting it. It was just easier to fake it.

"Hmm," McGonagall looked shrewdly down her spectacles at her in a way that had rarely ever been directed at her. Hermione felt as though she'd lost a good friend, having believed that she and the elderly witch had formed a sort of connection after her instating into the order. She was just going to have to regain her trust that was all.

"Supper is soon to begin," McGonagall informed her. "We shall sort you into your house then, and after the dinner hour is over you will meet with the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore." She gave her a sharp look. "I pray you've already looked over your books?"

"I've actually already done all the homework I've missed this term, Professor," Hermione answered simply. It had, in fact, been quite easy. This era hadn't had to teach its students advanced magic to keep them alive, and so most of what the seventh years were covering was review from her fifth and sixth year.

McGonagall's reaction was disappointing, as she merely raised an eyebrow beneath the wide brimmed hat, and Hermione hoped she hadn't come across as some sort of brownnoser. "Such scholarly habits are a good trait to hold on to, Mr. Granger. Some believe the school is merely a social gathering and do not take it as seriously as you ought to."

Hermione's thoughts instantly drifted to Sirius, who had been known to still have a few pranks up his sleeve during his confinement at Grimmauld, and nodded her head in perfect understanding. Seeing the sour look on the older woman's face, Hermione briefly entertained the thought that she was thinking of Sirius and the other Marauders as well.

"Even if you are not sorted into Gryffindor, I suggest seeking out the seventh year prefect Remus Lupin."

"Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall glanced at the clock, nodded, stood up, and gestured towards the doorway. It was time to be sorted.


	2. The Sorting and Settling In

**Completed:** (4/29/05) 8:50 PM  
**Posted: **(4/30/05) 10:00 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N:_ Aww…aren't the Marauders adorable? And yes, Peter IS in this story – we're not just going to ignore him 'cuz he's evil and stuff...

_A/N2:_ Btw, I've based the Marauders' humor on the conversations, etc. my friends and I have when someone's given us too much sugar and just what I imagine they'd talk about just because they're them.

* * *

"Hello, hello students. I trust you've all had a day of learning and kept your stomachs full of sweets—"

"Albus!" McGonagall hissed. Hermione stepped up beside her in the doorway that joined the Great Hall and a side atrium and peered out into a crowded dining hall that looked exactly the same as it did in her time; save for the hundreds of unfamiliar faces.

"Oh! Professor McGonagall!" Dumbledore beamed. "I didn't see you there..."

The Hall laughed uproariously, as they only did when McGonagall couldn't possibly take house points from all of them. Dumbledore quieted them down with a downplay of his hands and patted his beard idly as he waited for their attention.

"Now, now. Before we tuck in to this wonderful feast there remains one small matter of business. We have a student here to be sorted." Murmurs of surprise carried down the hall and heads turned to look at the boy standing half-hidden behind the doorway.

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore chortled. "Quite an exciting surprise isn't it? Certain circumstances necessitated the late transfer, but of course it's up to him whether to share the details or not. Might I introduce Harry Granger? Come now...time for clapping."

A smattering of polite applause came from small pockets of the Hall, before the select few were silenced by sharp looks from their peers. A gruff push from McGonagall and Hermione straightened her posture and walked smartly to the stool Professor Flitwick was setting out for her. Truth be told, he actually looked _taller_. Did Charms Professor's shrink?

She ran a hand through her shorn curls and settled on the stool. Doing so, she had to fight the urge to cross her legs. Years of skirt-wearing forays through the school had made her anal-retentively conscious about just what positions would display her knickers for the world to see. _You are in trousers now_, she told herself. Lovely trousers that required no leg-crossing, no itchy hose, and not even knickers if one were a closeted nudist – which Hermione was not – or if one should find themselves in a bitter fight against the communist propagators of 'laundry day' – which Hermione often did.

Ah, the wonders of trousers.

The infamous Sorting Hat was shoved onto her head like a musty sock and she tipped up the brim with a finger to see out. The hat 'hmm'ed and 'ahh'ed like the therapist you knew wasn't _really_ listening, and Hermione scanned the length of the Gryffindor table. It wasn't too hard; matching the faces to the photographs in her memory that is. There was Lily Evans, Arabella Figg, little Nymphadora Tonks, and of course Remus, Peter, Sirius, and James.

There was no way in hell she was going into any other house.

Flicking the hat's brim casually to gain its attention – did inanimate objects have 'attention'? – Hermione smiled softly and said, "Why don't you just stop flitting about and put me in Gryffindor."

"You remind me of a young character I sorted not too long ago. What was his name?" The hat blustered.

"SIRIUS BLACK!" Someone shouted and the Hall exploded in laughter as the boy named stood up out of his seat and shook his clasped hands above his head as though he'd been given an award.

"Ah yes! That's the one..." The hat chuckled in her ear. "You have a fair amount of wit and great intelligence, Harry. There will be quite a few things to learn and to teach where you're going. Enjoy your stay with GRYFFINDOR!"

Applause bounded off the walls with exuberant cheering from the Gryffindor table, shrill whistling from Sirius, and James, Peter and Remus even honored her sorting by exploding a few of the Filibuster fireworks that it was apparently regulation to carry with them. While McGonagall bellowed out detention threats and the roar of the Great Hall was too loud to hear over, the hat whispered in her ear:

"Good luck, Miss Granger."

Smirking, Hermione took off the hat and dropped it onto the three-legged stool. Waving behind her to the teacher's table, she hopped down the dais steps in two bounds and made her way down the Gryffindor table. Emboldened by her new appearance, Hermione headed straight for the Marauders and sat herself in the open space beside Peter.

"Hey," she said.

"Welcome Granger!" Sirius exclaimed uproariously. "To the exciting and most fantabulous house of Gryffindor."

"'Fantabulous'? You do know what an _actual_ vocabulary sounds like, don't you?" Remus sighed disparagingly.

"C'mon Moony!" James laughed, thumping the shorter boy on the back. "You don't want Harry here to know how much of a wet blanket you are, do ya?"

"But what a strapping young specimen of a wet blanket he his," Sirius offered.

"I'm Peter," the blonde boy said with a laugh. He pointed to the two childishly snickering boys. "Sirius and James, well...not even Remus here can keep 'em under control, and he's a _prefect_."

Hermione chuckled at the awe in his voice at the word, and shook his hand. "Harry. Good to meet you all."

The bangs that she could tell already would become a bit of a nuisance were brushed back again, and she propped her chin up on her hand and played with her goblet of pumpkin juice. "Professor McGonagall told me to watch out for you, Sirius Black."

James snorted into his drink and Peter laughed out loud. Remus shot them all an exasperated look, but Hermione saw him grinning behind his napkin. Sirius just looked aghast and leapt to his feet.

"McGoogles, my love!" He cried, throwing his napkin dramatically to the table. "Have you been besmirching my good name to this impressionable youth?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Remus held a finger to his lips with a wry grin, indicating that she should listen to Sirius' tirade – which, by this point, had drawn the entire Hall's amused attention.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Black, for that inappropriate outburst," McGonagall snapped. Her lips were turning white from pursing them so tightly. "Return to your seat."

"Must we really continue these silly games, my darling?" Sirius cooed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Surely you wouldn't lie about your true feelings in front of all these eager spectators? Everybody – I think my little crumbcake needs a little applause."

Hermione nearly choked on her biscuit as the wild applause erupted from all the houses. An infuriated McGonagall jumped to her feet, rather sprightly for a woman of her age, and rattled the table something dreadful in her haste. "FIVE_ HUNDRED_ POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" She bellowed to the tune of two hundred laughing students.

"We'll try again later shall we?" Sirius suggested, cupping his hands around his mouth, before James tugged him back down into his seat.

"Total slander," The long-haired boy insisted, buttering a scone and popping the whole thing into his mouth. Up at the teacher's table, a jovially laughing Dumbledore was genially helping the fuming McGonagall back into her seat.

"Your, er, _Juliet_ doesn't seem too smitten with you," Hermione commented lightly, loosening her tie.

"She's coming around," James insisted, making a mountain out of his mashed potatoes. "Isn't that right, mate?"

Sirius gave James a hard punch upside the head for his snickering, and Hermione looked uneasy. She wasn't some "girly girl" by any means, but she didn't exactly fancy being punched all that much. How many hits to the head would it take before she started losing brain cells? Hermione happened to be very fond of her brain cells – one half were named Floyd, the other Lester. And as Lester was rather prone to depression, losing any to the boyish obsession of physically abusing one another would start a rather nasty downward spiral...

"As if _anyone_ could resist my devilishly good looks—" Sirius was saying. He looked to her and a wholly unsettling smirk blossomed on his face. "Hey, 'Arry. What say you come with us to McGonagall's after dinner? We were gonna set off some dung bombs in her file cabinet, but she's got a tin of chocolates on her desk that Moony here _swears_ are worth pilfering."

Hermione knew there was no way she could get close to the Marauders without, well, _marauding_, but there would be other opportunities for mischief making and given her new arrival it would be more prudent to reestablish her basic personality first, so they didn't think she was some Sirius clone out to help them totally terrorize Hogwarts.

"Actually, I had planned to visit the library, but th—" She was cut off by James and Sirius' collective groans.

"Another one of _your_ kind," James groused to Remus, flopping his head down onto his folded arms. He pouted like a little boy.

"Aww," Peter huffed. "Just what we need..._two_ Remuses."

A chuckling Remus made apologies for his friends. "You'll have to excuse them, Harry. They've been convinced since first year that if they step foot inside a library those pesky demonic books will transfigure them all into doilies."

Hermione laughed. "And a terrifying set of doilies you'd make," she insisted dryly. "All lacy and evil in your pinkness."

Sirius chucked a biscuit at Remus, who ducked, and the honey-coated roll hit Peter square in the face with a minor level explosion. "At least Granger, here, recognizes the real danger," he reprimanded, while James threw a handful of confiscated napkins from other diners into Peter's lap as the pudgy boy continued his bewildered dripping.

"Who's going to keep my snugglemuffin McGoogles from taking all of Gryffindor's points if you get yourself zapped into a doily? Hmm!"

Remus flicked a pea off his plate and it landed in Sirius' considerable mass of hair. "Hopefully no one – you deserve all the points she takes."

"Yes, this denial of hers is quite a difficult stage to get through," Sirius agreed; though, on a subject they hadn't even been discussing. "But fear not, Moony old chum. Looks like she's headed into anger soon."

"She's always angry when it comes to you," Remus muttered under his breath, but Sirius didn't seem to hear him.

Hermione watched them all with rapt interest, storing each nuance away in her memory, and surprising herself by realizing that they were each almost exactly as she'd imagined them to be. Sirius – completely off the wall and attention-seeking, James – a confident, if mischievous and sly, leader, Remus – intelligent with a drier sort of wit and repressed unruliness, and Peter – easy-going and boyishly innocent with an amusing tendency to be easily impressed.

She tried to match them to names familiar to her; maybe Seamus for Sirius, and Neville for Peter. Her _decent_ choices for female companionship at Hogwarts had been slim: either Ginny, who tended to be a bit too feministic for her tastes, or Looney Luna, who she found it difficult to even have a conversation with some times. As such, nearly all her time had been spent with and around males; enough so, that she knew she wouldn't be _completely_ at a loss play-acting one. She even knew the basics of Quidditch – eleventy billion house points for _that_ traumatic undertaking.

If anything, now that she was physically here in 1978, her resolution had solidified and she was a hundred percent committed to the mission that she'd taken upon herself. She was going to save Harry Potter...even if it meant killing him.

As the introductions went around, Hermione made a mental note to find out how far the relationship between James and Lily had gotten. If what she'd heard was true, then perhaps she could also employ Sirius' help in keeping them apart if it came to that. Word had it that he'd been none too fond of the redheaded Head Girl in the beginning.

_You're still thinking like a girl, Hermione_, she told herself. _Too much_. Of course, it would be difficult lowering herself to the Neanderthal 'rock-breaks-melon' level of mental processing, but some sacrifices were unavoidable.

_Welcome to being a boy..._

* * *

After her meeting with Dumbledore and a quick trip to assess the status of the library in this time period, Hermione met up with the Marauders in the hallway outside the Fat Lady as they returned from their successful raid of McGonagall's candy tin.

Remus, who had won the footrace through the portrait, over the couch, and up the dorm stairs, was awarded with the honor of "tour guide" and began going on and on about how the stair-rail iron was imported from Brussels – truly interesting on any other day, but one might forgive Hermione if she wasn't paying complete attention.

Actually, she'd stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs. Mentally cursing herself for not testing the boys' dorm steps back home, Hermione would now be taking the gamble as to whether or not they reacted as the girls' did to boys. Her secret would be out pretty fast if she tried going up only to have the steps flatten into a slide and send her right back down on her bum.

With the vain hope that this would be the last risk she'd be taking in 1978, she bit the inside of her cheek and thought it best to take the stairs at a jog. She didn't breathe again until she reached the Seventh Year's landing without mishap. If they knew the nocturnal habits of the females in _her_ time, they'd put guard dragons on the boys' stairs.

After Sirius and Peter got stuck trying to go through the narrow doorway at the same time, and James apathetically – and literally – kicked them in, Hermione entered after Remus and leaned unobtrusively against one of the bedposts while Remus himself climbed easily onto the desk in the corner and resumed the tour.

"That is your bed. It will also serve as a floatation device in the case of a water landing, and should be noted is unsafe to animate because you think it would make a 'wicked pet'," he lectured. The stern tone was defeated on two counts: one, by the sheer ludicrously of the speech's content, and two, because of his desperately-in-need-of-a-chance-attack-by-garden-shears sandy bangs hanging like a golden retriever over his eyes.

"Should I check my sheets for acromantulas every night too?" Hermione joked in her usual casual manner.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Remus gave it a moment's consideration before nodding. "It _would_ be prudent..."

"That there was Prongsie's bed," Sirius informed her flopping onto his back over what she assumed was his bed. "Or woulda been if he hadn't a'gone and made Head Boy. This whole 'responsibility' hoax is like a venereal disease and Remus here has been sleeping around..."

Hermione laughed automatically with the others – Oh, the shame! She was developing the humor of a seventeen year old boy. Her laughter subsiding before the others, she huffed her bangs out of her eyes and wondered briefly if her hackneyed chop-cut necessitated the garden-shears approach as well.

"You and I are the only ones unaffected," Peter said eagerly to Sirius.

The lankier boy sat up pretzel-style and pounded a fist against his chest. "Stay strong, Petey. It's our dashing good looks that's kept us safe this long..."

An important note to make: James snickered like a little girl.

Scowling only goaded the Head Boy in laughing harder. The Great Pillow Twhumping was finally necessary for silence to be restored to the "peaceful" land of Boys-Dormia.

"Harry here's a pretty-boy," Sirius smirked evilly. Hermione automatically tensed in apprehension. "He's gotta be celibate."

"But remember!" Peter squeaked – and as the three other boys had to bite their lips to keep from laughing, this vocal tone confusion seemed to be a recent (and most humorous) development. Brave Peter kept going. "He likes the..._you-know-what_."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "The library?"

A lumpy pillow hit her head-on in the face. When it was safe to open her eyes again, Peter was behind the bedpost warding her off with his fingers in the shape of a cross while James 'shh'ed her dramatically. Behind an exasperated Remus rolling his eyes, Sirius was executing the special ordinance tactics he learned in 'Nam to hunt down more fluffy firearms.

"Forbidden word I see..." she said dryly, ruffling her hair.

"It's the doilies..." Remus whispered conspiratorially, hoping down off his makeshift soapbox.

"HEY!" James jabbed his finger in the prefect's direction. "There is a real and legitimate danger there! I'm sure the only reason Harry here goes is because he's on a quest to rehabilitate you brainwashed book-junkies supporting the communist doily-manufacturing monopoly. You're _sick_."

"HEY! HEY!" Sirius exclaimed, now poking James' muscley bits. "Mr. Big-Head Man Head Boy Sir...Person..." He trailed off, completely forgetting what his point had been in the first place. "Oh! _You_, Mr. As-I-Said-Before...you don't get to be all pointy. You're flicking your 'dependability' juices all over..."

" 'Dependability juices' ?—oh, _honestly_..." Remus muttered, neatly hanging his fraying robe on the hook beside his bed.

"Oo! Oh!" Sirius leapt the grand canyon from his bed to Peter's and promptly collided with the boy sitting there. Sirius had quite the impressive bed-bouncing skills. King Bed Bouncer she was sure they called him. "Harry could be like...our _translator_."

"I always thought you spoke 'responsibility' pretty good," Peter insisted from upside-down where he'd sprawled.

Now Sirius-The-Peacock, he puffed out his chest impressively and waggled his eyebrows. "Your words of praise are well founded—" the pudgy boy kicked Sirius in the chest in his squirming to get up only to slip off the edge of the bed. "Oof! Though my accent on the 'rules' part always ends up with more of 'blatant-and-quite-often-humorous-disregard-for-guidlines' tone to it, ya know? You can really hear it on the 'r's and 'l's..."

"Who gave _you_ sugar?" James muttered, making a face at Hermione as Sirius began demonstrating his improper consonants to anyone who was listening.

_She_ was taking the free time to resize her bags and begin unpacking what she could before lights out. The heaviest suitcase she heaved onto her trunk and popped upon the lid. Half the library shelves in the future had to be standing naked for all to see with all the books she'd stowed away in there.

"Sorry guys, but you can't ever have enough books..."

"We'll break you of that habit," James answered confidently. "Won't we Padfoot?"

The longer-haired boy was still continuing his broken record of 'r's, half hanging off of Peter's bed. "Rrrr...rrruh...uuuuuurrrrrrrrr...errrrrrrrrrrarrrrroooo..."

"Arrrr matey," Hermione supplied.

Closing one eye like a patch, Sirius brandished his arm wildly over his head as though it held a sword. "If I really was a pirate, pretty-boy..." He felt as though his dramatic twisting sword thrust adequately implied his debonair swordsmanship.

"You'd what?" James snickered – whatever he planned on saying next already having such a hilarious effect on him that he dissolved into teary-eyed guffaws twice before he was able to get it out. "_Plunder his booty_?"

"JAMES!" Remus shouted.

A confused Peter said, "I don't get it."

And Sirius fell backwards off the bed as James' outburst interrupted a particularly flamboyant swing and he landed head-first onto the hard stone floor.

"What!" James demanded looking from Harry with his hands clapped over his mouth, to a red-faced Remus, and then to Sirius caught like a turtle on his back. "It was _funny_."

"_Go_!" Remus ordered, pointing a sour James out the doorway.

"Fine," the Head Boy huffed. "But I wouldn't eat your share of the chocolate we knicked from McGonagall – might just turn you into a toilet seat."

"I'll keep that in mind," the brunet muttered, closing the door behind him with a swing and then rounding on Hermione who was pulling her tie over her head. "So sure you want to be in Gryffindor now?"

"Positive," she answered confidently. Her bangs were back in her eyes. "'Sides...I've already got me an admirer."

She batted her eyelashes at Sirius making it look superfluous and overly cheesy. She'd played audience to a far few unkind impersonations of Cho Chang by Ron throughout the years and now did her best to mimic the redhead's actions from memory.

"If you were any more responsible I'd have fed you to the sharks for such balderdash," Sirius swore, gallantly tipping an imaginary hat to her with a flourish. His staticky hair stuck straight out as he bowed.

Boys, and most certainly Marauders, did _not_ giggle. Hermione exchanged her near feminine mishap for a cry of pain as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the offensive sound from filtering out.

"Don't forget," Peter cheeped, eyeing warily the irate werewolf tapping his foot impatiently, already dressed down for bed. Hermione was glad her eyes had been elsewhere. "Rule one eighty-two: No Swashbuckling in the boys' dorms."

"Can't believe McGoogles didn't buy that I was possessed," Sirius muttered, sheathing his invisible sword; who knew who would just come along and use it as a murder weapon. "If James hadn't been screaming so much, she _never _would have known..."

"I think that was the point, Sirius," Remus commented and then the room was totally blacked out after he flicked the switch. "Lights out."

Grateful for the anal-retentive light-controlling habits of Remus, Hermione still hesitated to change into her nightclothes. Kicking off her trousers, Hermione didn't risk trying to find a shirt and changing into it while the lights could be turned on any minute. Instead, she rolled up the sleeves of her laundry-softened oxford, unbuttoned the two top and bottom buttons and left it on over her boxers.

Mattress springs squeaked as Peter and Sirius both found their beds and flopped down. Peter almost immediately began to snore. While similar, the layouts between boys and girls dorm rooms were different enough that Hermione had to pat her way down along her bed to the clock table – which she nearly lost an eye to leaning down to take off her socks – and then crawled into bed.

She'd expected a billion thoughts to be running through her head, or at least a decent blush at the jokes made on Sirius, but her body seemed to be taking this whole "boy" thing seriously – the instant her head hit the pillow her mind was wiped clean and she was asleep.

* * *

Tired and groggy, whether from the ordeal of time-traveling or having to sleep through Peter's earth-shattering snores, Hermione was only functioning at 10 as she was shuffled out of bed. She barely had enough sense to grab a fresh set of her uniform before she was being jostled between equally sleepy bodies down the hall.

Yawning gained her a mouthful of Sirius' seriously bed-headed hair, and the automatic gag reflex woke her up quite effectively though not too pleasantly. Rubbing at her eyes, she followed her would-be-choker into a room where the lumpy stone gave way to smooth, cold tile beneath her feet.

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, staring almost obsessively straight ahead, as the Marauders moved around her and continued on into the expansive room, pulling off their shirts and starting to unlace their trousers as they went. The sight of creamy and bronzed skin filled the room as they dropped their clothes on the floor just out of reach of the silver shower-heads jutting out from the one wall that served as communal line of showerheads.

This was going to be a problem.

* * *


	3. Day One

**Completed: **5/15/05 9:00 PM  
**Posted:** 5/15/05 10:45 PM

_Author's Note:_ Oh, what fun to be had with boy!Hermione...  
Just a warning – I will switch between the names Hermione and Harry, though I try to use Harry when going more from the Marauder's point of view. I do it so that you all won't forget that everyone else thinks she's a BOY! Trousers and everything.

_ETA:_ Now that finals are done for me and track's winding down, I'm hoping to have a lot more time for this story as well as a few drabbles that have been piling up. And don't forget the sequel!

* * *

Heat flamed into Hermione's cheeks as Peter dropped his boxers and she _prayed to god_ that scarring image wouldn't burn itself into her memory. Shielding her eyes from further damage, she seemed to forget how important breathing was in keeping you from passing out and began to panic.

They might not be on top of their game at seven in the morning, but there were _some_ things they were bound to notice.

"Hey...what's the matter with Harry?" Peter quipped curiously. He was trying pitifully to summon a bar of soap, but his wand kept slipping in his wet hands.

"Struck down by your manliness is what," Sirius theorized dryly, scooping up Peter's flopping soap and stealing it for himself.

Hermione nearly melted into her toes in red-faced embarrassment when James began prancing around in a faux coquettish manner beneath the spray of the waterhead to Sirius' catcalls. This resulted in the stoic Remus, who was simply trying to wash his hair, covering half his showerhead with his palm and spraying the namby-pamby Head Boy with a powerful jet of water. Such an act could only end in a total and dripping soaking of the entire loo as the four Marauders extended their water fight into an all out boxing match with Sirius throwing chunks of soap at them all.

Hermione saw her escape in their particularly handy distraction and began edging for the door. She didn't know how she'd ever convinced herself that she could pull this off, but for once her intellect had utterly failed her. The time turner was waiting for her back in the dorms – she could just give up and go back home.

Hermione came to a dead stop.

_Home_? She didn't have a home to go back to. Most of her friends were dead, each of the Marauders well and gone, and her Harry had his mind poisoned by the evil that had filled their childhood. It was a future this generation had never thought could come to pass. And _no one_ called it 'home'.

This _had_ to work.

Hermione drew her wand definitively and found her salvation in an aging shower stall squeezed into the far corner beside the entrance; rusting and fallen into disuse. One hand clutching her clothes to her restrained chest, she wielded the smooth vine wood with expert ease in her right hand. The glow of magic even caught the tussling Marauders' gaze and they stopped to watch her work.

The skewed door lifted back onto its hinges and popped out the dents that had formed in its surface while a chunk of Sirius' demolished soap lathered great bubbly circles across the cobwebbed stall to clean it. From the ceiling she suspended plastic-y white curtains that would keep anyone from peeking in to see her substantial non-male-ness. After washing off the soap with a handy redirection spell on James' water spout, Hermione declared it a job well done and stashed her wand back into the bundle of clothes in her arms.

"Guess _we're_ not cool enough to have our own showers..." Sirius jibbed sarcastically as Hermione slipped into the olive green cubicle.

"Actually, I _do_ have my own shower..." James brought up. He had raised his hand like he was asking a professor for permission to speak.

"That goes for me as well." Remus lifted Peter's foot off from around his neck and extricated himself from the pile. Tasting the salt of sweat as he licked his lips, he sighed in familiar exasperation and stepped back under the shower to wash again.

"Then what are you doing here?" Peter demanded. He sounded rather squeezed with James sprawled rather awkwardly over his back.

"—using up our good water, I might add." Sirius kicked James off so the shorter boy could properly breathe again and rolled up into a sitting position.

"The prefects' bathroom is too far away for everyday use," Remus said oddly, for his lips were being pressed tight as to ward off the shampoo dripping in frothy trails down his face.

"Ditto for the Heads'," James agreed.

"Not even for the chance to see Evans out of her skivvies?" Sirius waggled his eyebrows suggestively and narrowly dodged a fist from his friend.

"Shut your gob, Padfoot," the normally-bespectacled boy growled with a deep scowl.

Hermione was rinsing the shampoo from her mournfully short hair when their conversation caused her to stop. She pushed back the curtain after making sure the green siding came up to her shoulders and looked suspiciously out at James. Stubbornly, she kept her eyes above the waist, though they'd all donned towels by now, and focused instead on the look on their faces.

"Calm down, Prongsie." Sirius waved off the other boy's annoyance. "Didn't mean to take a shot at the love of your life's virtue."

"Who's Evans?" Hermione called out in Harry's lower register. Remus looked surprised at her interest, but James was still frowning as Sirius grinned at her, and Peter was being Peter. "James' bird?"

"He wishes!" Peter exclaimed, and then stuck his tongue out as he hid behind Remus from James' angry swings.

"Unfortunately for the rest of us, the answer is 'no'," the brunet answered a bit more subdued, tightening the knot of his towel around his slender hips. "You'll never want to leave the library once you hear how much he pines for her – I know I don't."

She raggedly towel-dried her hair. "So?"

"_Soooo_," Sirius sing-sang gleefully. "Our dearest Lily Evans absolutely _detests_ Prongs. He has the misfortune of being a hair-ruffler."

Hermione knew exactly what he meant and it brought up fond memories of watching Harry try to impress Cho and then Ginny and succeeding only in looking completely ridiculous as he sought to appear "ruggedly handsome". Her grip tightened on the shower wall. While she was sure the girl was a wonderful and kind person, and she honestly had nothing against the Head Girl – _Lily Evans had to go_.

"Evans says its 'improper and childish to see in someone of his position'," Sirius went on. "I think it's endearing..."

He cooed and pinched James sharply on the cheek with all the accompanying fishy faces one would expect.

"Looks as though you ought to be going out with Sirius here instead," Hermione stated logically. She stepped out of the cubicle fully clothed (and rewrapped) and running her damp bangs back from her face with her fingers. "Going after someone who feels the completely opposite way seems a pretty poor waste of time."

James looked more surprised than angry.

"But do what you want." Hermione shrugged her shoulders holding to an air of indifference. "I personally like the hair thing..."

Unconsciously, James reached up and stubbornly patted down his unruly hair that somehow still managed to stick out in all directions even when wet.

"We should start a club!" Sirius called after her as she walked out.

"I'll make the jackets."

* * *

Classes that day passed by uneventfully, or at least they would have had she not had every class with at least one of the Marauders. She'd thought she'd have piece at last in Ancient Runes with Remus, until Lucius Malfoy's notebook tried to bite off his nose – a present from James.

Most of the students didn't much care that she was a new student and treated her as though she'd always been there, which was truly better than she could have hoped for. The less attention she drew to herself the better.

Finding no reason to completely break her habits just because she was twenty years in the past, come dinner time she was firmly ensconced in her customary library table, hidden in the middle of the maze of stacks.

Transfiguration book propped open in front of her and a chocolate biscuit she'd snitched from the kitchens stashed discreetly in her lap Hermione had tuned out all distractions in order to write the essay assigned for next week.

"HARRY!"

"Bugger!" Hermione jumped a foot into the air spraying pastry crumbs in a wide radius about her chair. Her heart was still pounding from the shock when she looked across the table at James.

"SHH!" A still quite old-looking Madame Pince hushed from her desk, trying to peer through the rows of stacks and identify the culprit.

"Sorry," James told her, but the grin on his face made him look hardly apologetic. "I've been calling your name the past minute and a half, but you were totally spacing off, Harry."

Hermione's cheeks were light pink in embarrassment. She couldn't rightly tell him she hadn't heard because she was used to shouts of 'Hermione'. That would raise a few awkward questions about her mental stability.

"I was working," she huffed; Harry's voice a little lower than usual.

"And you scream like a girl..."

"I do not!"

Hermione had to learn to stay with the baritone octave or one of these times someone was going to call her on it. She cleared her throat and sat back down.

"What did you need, James?"

He folded his arms over the top of the chair he'd turned backwards and the act made his rectangular frames slide a bit down the bridge of his nose. "You don't eat dinner?"

"What can I say? I'm a closeted anorexic." She pulled her wand from behind her ear to charm the ink on her parchment dry before rolling it up. "Take me out of the closet and I'll eat a hippogriff."

James pointed down with his arms still folded. "This is your closet?"

Nodding, she echoed him. "Yes. This is my closet."

"It's nice," he said. "Spacious."

"Quite roomy," Hermione agreed. "But I thought the library was 'off limits'. Demonic and all that."

He winked at her and she was astounded for a moment at the gesture before she reminded herself that they were _both_ boys here.

"Someone had to brave the devil's lair to rescue a fair maiden such as yourself."

Filled with a paralyzing anxiety, Hermione struggled to maintain a joking façade. "I am not a bird," she insisted.

James laughed. "You sure scream like one."

Hefting the potions book she had been about to pack away, she gave it a threatening wave. "If this book wasn't worth more than you are, I'd throw it at your porcupine-y head."

"You _love_ it," James cajoled and gave his wayward locks a ruffle for good measure.

"James..."

Harry's voice held enough warning in it that the Head Boy felt the need to disclose his mission now or risk losing a potential accomplice.

"How would you like to go on an _adventure_...?"

* * *

"Should we _really_ be doing this now?" Hermione questioned with a logical tone. She adopted an easy posture against one of the hall pillars, arms crossed over her chest, but shooting anxious looks down each end of the hall defeated her suave attempts. "Dinner's almost over."

"Exactly." James voice came across as rather disembodied, given that the large stone statue of Bertha the Bewitching statue completely obscured him from view as he scaled the cement edifice. "Our pranks require prompt victims."

"For fuck's sake," Sirius muttered whilst waving his wand to ensure the lavender scented bubbles lining the hallway floor frothed nicely. "Harry here's just about as edgy as you, Wormtail."

There was a cry – most likely of indignation – from somewhere within the bowels of the kitchen; the entry doorway, a portrait of a fruit bowl, hung wide open. While his friends did the wandwork, Peter was on a mission to retrieve a bountiful feast of tarts and pastries; the foursome having skipped dessert in favor of wreaking havoc.

"Are you sure you lot don't need any help?" Hermione inquired uneasily. She inspected the complicated contraption James was attempting to adhere to the ceiling with a dubious eye.

"Of course not," James scoffed, and in taking a moment to ruffle his disheveled hair, he nearly toppled right off of Bertha's shoulder and broke his neck. Of _course_ they didn't need any help. "If there's any marauding to be had it will be _us_ who are having it," he boasted. "You're just the stand-in lookout."

"Poor Mundungus," Remus said with a pitying shake of his head.

"Mundungus?" It was easy to fake her confusion, if only for the reason that it was bewildering at first to hear the shady man referred to by his proper name. Hermione also had a fair idea as to why she was replacing him that evening.

"Didja hear what old Dung was in for?" Sirius cackled and slapped Remus rowdily on the back, causing the prefect to drop his wand into the lake of rapidly spreading bubbles.

Wearily sorting his wand out of the mess, the brunet set to work cleaning it off on the edge of his robes with a look that gave way to the assumption that this sort of thing happened too often to get worked up over every time. He shook his head 'no' to indicate that he hadn't "heard".

"Got himself a weeks detention for fillin' old Hugo Filch's filing cabinets full of dungbombs. There had to have been at least ten score in there!" Sirius was beaming idiotically like a proud parent. "Awgh...you shoulda smelled it, Moony."

Remus made a noncommittal noise of assenting. "Quite," he answered, though it didn't seem as though he was really listening at all. Hermione didn't have any trouble seeing her old professor in the boy before her.

"So I'm to stand here all night, am I?" Hermione grumbled. "Playing the watchdog while you four do your parlor tricks?"

"Finally you figure it out," James snickered, dangling his feet over Bertha's head. "_We_ are the Marauders here. Just because you've got as dry a wit as Moony, doesn't make you one of us. And they aren't _tricks_."

Hermione scowled, but turned her face down the hall so that they could not see. Boys could be such arses. _Honestly_. "Wouldn't dream of encroaching on your little club, Potter."

Remus smirked. "'_Encroaching_' means to—"

"We know what it means!" Sirius shot his amused friend a dirty look as he cast a quick Disillusionment Charm over the hall, which looked as though it had suffered a terrible flood from the prefects' bathroom. The bubbles were now nearly invisible – a slight shine across the stone floor only visible if you looked at it _just_ right.

"Are you done yet?" Hermione demanded. She did her best to make 'Harry' look wholly unimpressed.

"Why – ya thinking of running off on us?"

"And miss the show?" She smiled softly, forgetting for once the annoying bangs in her eyes. "After all...if a prank is executed and there's no one there to witness it, does it cause mayhem?"

"What the deuce is he talking about?" The last fourth of the Marauders asked, stepping out of the kitchens.

"Peter, NO!"

The stocky boy who'd entered into a confusing segment of the conversation between the four other Gryffindors, was currently doing so under the bearing of a full armload of tasty treats he'd quite easily pilfered from the house elves. Despite James' shout, it was too late to stop Peter from scurrying out into the deceptively safe hallway.

The four others winced as the shorter boy's feet slipped on the invisible bubbles and came completely out from underneath him while the much longed-after pastries were flung straight up into the air.

Hermione's wand was out in the same half-second it had taken James to cry his warning and as the food left the shocked Peter's grasp she was already transfiguring the helmet of a nearby armor statue into a large serving tray. Sirius and Remus both looked at Harry in surprise, but James was ever the hero of the situation.

In a fear-defying leap that looked as though its landing would be a rather painful one to stick, James caught the hovering tray mid-swandive. Sliding like some deranged surfer, he performed the cartoon equivalent of improbable reflexes by darting out the platter on one hand to catch the individual cupcakes and the like as they fell. The last dessert – a chocolate éclair – looked as though it was about to fall on an eager Pettigrew as he lay sprawled on the floor. But with a ballet-like pirouette, James caught that one in his free hand and popped the whole thing into his mouth.

"Atta boy, Prongsie!" Sirius applauded wildly while Hermione was the sole member of the group to wade cautiously into the bubbles and help get Peter back onto his feet. "Do that in the match next week against the Slytherins and the Cup will be ours! Best Seeker in a century you are."

"Thanks, Harry," Peter sighed with a grateful look.

Harry gave him a small lopsided smile and made Peter feel infinitely less embarrassed by actually congratulating him. "Well done, Peter. Now we know for sure it'll work."

Sirius' snickering made Peter's cheeks flush, but he wasn't the only one with wide eyes when Harry shot the black-haired boy a terse look and said, quite seriously, "Looks like you're out another girlfriend James. Sirius here is just as rude as that Evans bird."

No wonder the poor boy didn't have any self-esteem. She knew from personal experience how much the light-hearted jokes and taunts between friends could mount up when you weren't feeling particular confident already. Having to save the world every year had given Hermione a back-bone that Peter hadn't seemed to have found. Maybe if he was lucky Voldemort would attack the school in this time too!

Hermione scooped her bag up off the floor in the adjoining hall that was still bubble-free, and having successfully completed her job as lookout, shook back her chopped hair and turned to Peter. "Did you still want some help on that Herbology paper?"

"Really!" He exclaimed in disbelief.

She nodded. "Of course. I just finished mine so I can show you all the books you need to finish it quickly."

Peter readily abandoned his shocked partners in crime, stolen raspberry tart in hand, and slip-slided his way out of the mess. "Books?" He frowned and his mousy face turned pink. "I'm not so fast at reading. It's kinda boring..."

Hermione figured in "boy's world" this sort of moment warranted a "back pat", and acted accordingly. "I know a few tricks that might help. Then you can finish your homework right quick and get straight to your marauding."

"Tricks?"

Hermione reflected on how she'd gotten Ron to study for his Potions O.W.L. "Like...every time you finish a paragraph I'll give you a cookie."

Realizing that his tart had already been consumed, Peter quickly agreed to her idea if it promised more dessert.

"Wormtail! You can't honestly be thinking about going to the library, can you!" James asked. _Horrified_. "Think of the goblins!"

"They live under the stacks, you know!" Sirius added.

Completely – and rather bravely, in Hermione's opinion – ignoring his two fable-spouting friends, Peter did quite well in keeping step with Hermione. "I wouldn't have bothered you, but Remus still has to write his and James and Sirius—"

"Oh, _gods_ no," Hermione laughed. "I wouldn't wish their tutelage on my enemies. I'm happy to help you. Any time, Peter."

"Uhm, you can call me 'Wormtail'...if you'd like."

She smiled and tucked her wand behind her ear. "I like 'Peter' a lot more."

* * *

Chuckling at the dumbfounded looks on his friends faces, Remus stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes and gave them both a wry grin. "Looks like Peter has found himself a knight in shining armor."

Checking that his own wand was safely stowed away, Remus nodded farewell and headed off after Harry and Peter. "I'm off. Essays to write and all that..."

And so Sirius and James, who'd seemed so in control of the situation a few moments ago, were left standing alone in a swamp of invisible bubbles grown to roughly the size of mince pies. Shrugging his slender shoulders, James turned in the direction of Gryffindor Tower his thoughts uncomfortably circling around the intriguing new student, who certainly warranted further investigation, and Sirius followed after, not the type to simply be left behind.

_He_ was wondering how long his trousers would smell of lavender.

* * *


	4. Reflection

**Completed:** (5/21/05) 7:24 PM  
**Posted: **(4/22/05) 3:10 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ PAY ATTENTION! Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N:_ Month between last chapter and this one, just fyi. I've had so many ideas of how Hermione will be discovered, and they're all just wonderful. Some have made me realize just how careful I have to make her. To tell the truth, I honestly haven't decided how/if she's going to be out-ed. Lol. I do have to say though, I wish they'd just get to the kissing already, sigh. Plot can be quite annoying at times, no?

_Note_: Please, for the love of Christmas and good old-fashioned smut, no more questions about 'who Hermione is going to pick'. I made sure to emphasis the OT3ness of it all. She's not picking either one, she's picking BOTH. I know for some people polyamory is a hard concept to grasp, but please read the notes I write for you and don't ask questions I've already answered. Thanks.

_Bigger Note_: Some of you may/will notice I've taken a few liberties with some of the characters – such as the skewed ages of Lucius and Tonks. I'd like to point out the "Creative License" nestled nicely in my wallet. I am not JK, this is fanfiction, and while I _always_ stay as closely canon as fits my needs, there are occasions where things in HP-world need to change to revolve around _me_. I hope non of you are too offended, but that's the way of the world. For what it's worth, I'll try and keep the changes to a minimum.

_Side note_: Sorry to all newsletter subscriptioners. _refused_ to let me log in last night. Updated as soon as it let me!

* * *

"So if we push Arithmancy—"

"We can't push Arithmancy."

"Why not?"

Remus growled and kept pushing away Harry's quill as the other brunet boy attempted to draw lines on his parchment, rearranging classes. "_Because_ I need that spot open for divination tutoring."

Harry made a face. He looked like a puffskein that had been run over by a thestral. With a pointedly sour disposition, he managed to scribble out the "di" of "divination" before Remus snatched away his list. "Hmph!" Harry snorted. "A wooly subject if you ask me. Besides, I thought you were going to tutor potions with me?"

"Haha! Moony? Teach _potions_!"

Harry shushed Sirius by twisting in his chair and waving emphatically for the tallest Marauder to close his mouth. Chair wheels squeaked as Madame Pince stood rigidly from her seat to peer hawk-eyed through the gaps in the stacks. Shaking his head at his big-mouthed friend, James gave the back of Peter's chair a swift kick. It skidded loudly across the tiles, but placed the boy's body in front of the illegal plate of cookies and blocked it from sight. Pince soon gave up.

It was actually a miracle in itself that she'd managed to get the lot of them into the library. The cookies had helped. Regrettably, she'd pointed out that it was quite possibly the last place the professors would look for them, and with the hundreds of books on charms and spells it was the perfect place to plan their next prank.

"The wanker has a point," James said blithely. "Remus here is bloody awful at potions. Couldn't brew a pepper-up potion to save his life—"

"—but the man _can_ cook!" Sirius expostulated. "His pot-roast—"

"Oi! Sirius stop!" Peter grumbled. He gripped his stomach with a pained expression. "You're making me hungry."

Harry quirked an eyebrow and made a quick note on his paper. "Alright then. I suppose I'll have to find myself another partner..."

Remus gave him an apologetic look, but his face was flushed a bit in embarrassment. Hermione should have realized that he'd always had Professor Snape brew his wolfsbane potion, because it had been his worst subject in school. He'd probably have ended up sprouting spots rather than keep his human consciousness in the forefront of his mind.

She made a mental note to experiment with the potion. She'd only seen Snape brew it twice, but still she figured that was enough for her to memorize the procedure. It obviously hadn't been invented yet, and she wasn't sure how much trouble making it would cause, but if she was ever let in on her friend's secret, then she'd want to do whatever was in her power to help.

But _Snape_...

That gave her an idea.

"Ya know – I think Lily was going to be doing some tutoring next term. Maybe she'll do potions?"

Hermione frowned inwardly, though her outside expression of blank indifference was hardly better. "I would think you'd be opposed to anyone of the XY type to be hanging around your Juliet."

James shrugged. "Well, you don't seem too fond of her. Hardly think you're gonna snatch her away."

Harry tucked his quill behind his ear, looking rather ridiculous for the calm look on his face, and reached around Sirius to grab a cookie off the dish. "I don't dislike the bird." Harry shrugged. "She's pretty and we've had a few intelligent conversations. She seems like an all-around good person, I guess. It's your particular pursuit of her that seems to me a colossal waste of time and energy."

James stared at the table top a great length of time. His fingertips moved listlessly across the polished wood grain between the plate of cookies and his unopened school books. "I've got to, uh, find a...a thing," he said in a mumble before he stood up and strode briskly off into a random row of the stacks.

Harry watched him go with remorse in his eyes. Slowly, he turned back to his timetable he was attempting to organize for next term to make the best use of his time. While Harry maintained a blank façade, _Hermione_ felt terrible.

She _liked_ James – really, she did – and she felt it wasn't fair to him that she planned to completely alter the path that had been laid out for him. He was funny, charismatic, and more naïve than Hermione would have imagined. The kind of person who, once he gave his trust, believed in it undoubtedly. In that respect, he reminded her so much of the Harry she'd first learned to love with Ron. Before his role in the war had turned him bittersweet he had been so willing to see the good in others, even when others saw nothing.

But for all their likenesses, James was _not_ Harry, and it was unfair of her to compare them. It was James' trust she yearned to gain, and his friendship that she valued now. It closed her throat and ached her heart to think it, but as far as her life was concerned now – Harry was dead to her.

But was it selfish of her to want to fit in, to be close to the four boys whose memories had so dominated her childhood? How could it not be when it was merely a part she was playing; this appearance a shadow of her own? Her whole past as they knew of it was a lie – her time a lie, her _body _a lie. She held so many secrets, kept so many truths hidden – how could they possibly learn to trust her? She couldn't let them give something so full of worth to her under this awful charade. They didn't know any better, but she did. She knew it was wrong. It was wrong what she was doing – this job that _needed_ to be done.

And yet, her job here required their trust – the enigmatic James' especially. She couldn't ask it of them, couldn't take it if offered, but needed it nonetheless. She sighed, knowing that she truly had no control over the situation. It was certainly a dilemma of moral proportions...

Hot breath on Hermione's cheek startled her and she looked up to nearly collide her head with Sirius'. He'd slid his chair over beside hers with her noticing. When he didn't say anything in response to her surprised look, she took a bite of her cookie and pulled her quill from behind her ear to get back to work.

"Why aren't you so keen on Evans?"

Harry shook his head. "It's none of my business."

"You've made it your business."

Hermione dropped her quill. "Look. I've had some experience with this sort of thing – it ends badly and messily. I didn't mean to put my nose where it doesn't belong, but from what I hear from swooning Hufflepuffs, James isn't the kind of person who deserves that."

Silence followed her short, but powerfully spoken explanation, in which she took a nervous nibble of her crumbly chocolate cookie and stared at the feathered shaft of her eagle quill lying neglected across her parchment book.

"Wow." Peter's monosyllabic answer was one of stunned awe, suitable for breaking the quiet.

She glanced over, but Sirius was looking at her curiously. Not so much wonder, but _interest_, was in his dark blue eyes as he regarded Harry's firm set jaw and solid gaze. "Sooo… you want me to drop this now?"

Harry closed his book one-handed with a sharp snap. "That would be appreciated."

"Where are you going?" Remus asked as Harry packed away his things; being able to do so quickly without endangering the precious books or so much as creasing his parchment book.

Harry hefted the laden satchel onto his shoulder with a sigh. "I'm going to find a tutoring partner."

Sirius nodded and said through a mouthful of cookie: "Don't worry about James. He's a prick with a hothead, but he'll get over it."

"Are we quite sure you aren't referring to yourself, Black?" Harry responded dryly. "No, no. I'll apologize to James tonight. When I get back."

"You don't—"

"It wasn't my business," Harry interrupted, but with his same even tone that they'd all grown accustomed to by now. "And it's as you said when I first came here – I'm not a 'marauder'" – here he made air quotes – "so it was entirely wrong of me to speak on a topic I'm sure runs deeper than I have knowledge of."

Peter looked at him weirdly through his two round fists by his elbows propped on the tabletop. "Anyone ever said you talk too much?"

"Yes."

"I'm not surprised," Sirius muttered. For this he was given a sharp rap across the knuckles from Remus-the-Catholic-nun-professor.

"I'm going now..." Harry swore, and started for the aisle of the stacks with the full intent of heading straight for the door.

"Harry..."

The brunet stopped with his hand on the shelf of a bookcase.

"For what it's worth. I'm glad somebody finally said something to him," Sirius said; seriousness colored by a boyish grin. "He thinks it's a joke between friends. Guess it took someone outside the circle to make him see what a prat he was being..."

Harry said nothing, but just turned the corner and signaled his departure from the library by the sound of receding footprints across the stone flooring.

* * *

It was hard for Hermione to believe that she would have been in the past one month tomorrow. One month _undiscovered_. While not many women thought of impersonating the other sex, when the brief thought was entertained in the most drunkenness of nights, they wouldn't have been able to comprehend all the aspects that would need to be taken into account for such an endeavor to go off without a hitch. It was quite a lengthy list.

Appearance for one; not only physical attributes but accessories as well. Bras and lacy panties were traded for boxer shorts and medical bandages. Baggy shirts and trousers to hide what would be confusing anatomical pieces. Nails cut down to the wick and shaved legs explained away by the tale of being a swimmer in the previous school.

Voice lowered and maintained no matter the situation, and an entirely new sort of disposition adopted to correlate with the actions of a seventeen year old boy. Changing and showering had to be done in total and absolute privacy but without raising suspicion. And in this particular situation, a charm was redone every third day to prevent her lycanthropic or animagus comrades from smelling the blood of her coming monthlies on her. And when it came, for three days of November she'd hidden herself away in London under the pretense of seeing her old doctor for a check-up on something that remained a curious mystery to those who knew about it.

It was a rickety bridge she'd chosen to sleep on. If she didn't question Remus' monthly visits to his sick grandmum's, they wouldn't question her monthly appointments.

When the boys got rambunctious and wrestly around her, she'd pick up her books and slip up into the dormitory to avoid getting involved in a close contact situation that would unveil her less manly aspects. Having learned a bit of Quidditch what seemed liked ages ago helped her significantly, but her obvious terribleness at the sport was easily accepted since neither Remus nor Peter could be convinced to play either.

But this created an even more unsatisfactory situation for Hermione. Since she was eleven, the only students she'd deemed worthy enough to befriend had been boys. The vain, giggly creatures she loosely termed 'girls' had held no appeal to her logical minded self, and at times even disgusted her. Not even Ginny and Luna, the only female friends she'd had measured up to honor she'd accorded to Harry and Ron.

She was a tomboy of sorts; a guys' girl. But here, where she wasn't even able to get close to the boys she'd even known in her present, and without the desire or capabilities to befriend herself to the girls, Hermione was surprising alone. Sure, she was capable of conversing with the Marauders and a few others, including Lily Evans, but there was no one in the entire school she felt she was close to.

She was better friends with McGonagall than any of the students, if that was a sad thought. The hawk-faced woman had taken two weeks to work through, but now Hermione found herself often in the older woman's company for advice and she had become somewhat of a guardian to Hermione.

But back to the Marauders...

She wasn't one of them and she accepted it, and though they were the prime focus of her mission, she was bright enough not to push. Remus and herself had hit it right off with their affinity for learning and their love of the library. He was soft-spoken and warm-voiced when he talked, but when his friends brought out his dry brand of wit, then the person Remus was truly shined through. His intelligence and logical mind lent cunning to each of the Marauders' pranks, and he could devise an escape plan with the best of them.

Here and now, he was still filled with a child's sense of happiness and yes, even, innocence. He had friends and family and a world still white and pure. She didn't know half the trials he'd gone through in the time until he'd become her professor, but it brought her unspeakable joy to be able to see him like this; happy.

She'd been drawn to Remus automatically, but so also, surprisingly, had she formed a quick bond with Peter.

He had a homely, but infectious, air of jolliness around him, and though she'd took him for inept at first it seemed that he'd only had trouble at the basic things that made it impossible to do the greater things. Unknowingly, she'd taken it upon herself to help him. He'd gotten faster at reading and understanding what he read because Hermione made a job of it to find him the books that would give him what he needed, but be witty and fun to read.

Talking had helped him too. When the others were busy, he'd find her and they would talk. At first he'd only wanted to listen to her, as he'd been conditioned living with Sirius and James' large personalities, but Harry didn't allow it. He forced Peter to talk, and now they could get into as lively of a debate on Magical Creatures, which he was quite knowledgeable about, as Harry could debate Ancient Runes with Remus. And these were talks she _enjoyed_. Through their conversations, not only did Peter's vocabulary and comprehension go up, but so did his self-esteem. The thoughts and opinions that came easily in their late night talks over cookies and butterbeer began expressing themselves in the company of the other Marauders. Slowly, but surely.

She'd given Peter Pettigrew a voice.

But for all her friendliness with the first two, she didn't believe them to be close, and the second half of the Marauders were set in keeping their distance from her. Sirius was the loyal one, and James was the leader – they were the ones that kept her on the outside. And why shouldn't they? For seven years it had just been the four of them, they'd grown up and grown together, and done unimaginable things for one another in the name of friendship.

Unfortunately, she needed James' trust, and Sirius to keep him from Lily Evans. It was a bit difficult to say the least. Hermione pressed two fingers to her temple and sighed. It was times like this, that she'd sell her soul for a bubble bath.

As she walked down the hallway, switching her bag from shoulder to shoulder every so often to balance out the weight, Hermione fiddled with her longish curls. She made a note to have it fixed during the next Hogsmeade trip. They were sure to have one before the holiday break.

Break. It wouldn't be too suspicious if she stayed over the winter – after all, no one knew why she'd transferred in the first place. Most assumed her family was gone. But it was just her luck that she'd come in seventh year and wouldn't have to find a place to stay over the summer hols. Would she even be here that long? It was months away, and yet she'd already been here one with little to show for her efforts. Without a past here it would be difficult to find a job, even get a flat somewhere...

She was broken out of her deep thoughts, by a sudden dilemma that rose before her.

She paused at the Grand Staircase, assessing the time and where her destination ought to be. With a frown on her face, she chewed anxiously at her thumbnail. Looking up and down the staircase, she opted for down and, re-shouldering her bag, mounted the staircase.

Down, down, to the entrance hall where she spun around to the left and through the doorway located there between two darkly embroidered tapestries. The staircase was drafty, as so many obscure corridors were in the castle, and the breeze ruffled her hair as it waved the gossamer tendrils of spider silk that still clung to the stone walls. The stairway was steep, but she knew from experience that she would rather not use the slime-covered wall for balance.

She passed a few younger Slytherins on her path through the dungeons, but they only gave Harry a lingering glance before carrying on. They weren't audacious enough to try something against a seventh year who'd proven his skill with a wand in DADA and Charms. The Ravenclaw prefect she passed was too absorbed in their book to pay her any mind either.

She passed the basilisk statue that served as the guardian of the Slytherin common room, and had an odd feeling slice through her as she swore the glittering eyes followed her as she went by. After two more turns she was knocking on the ornately carved door of the Potions room.

A gruff voice bade her enter and she did so.

Learning from her mistakes with her first Potions professor, Hermione had formed an awkward relationship with Professor Thorn. He tolerated her because of her extensive gift at potion brewing and she kept the marauders as best under control as she could in class. She wondered how he would have treated her had she been sorted into Slytherin.

"Hello, Professor."

"Granger." He acknowledged her with a brusque nod.

Harry quickly explained to the grumpy old man who he was looking for, and since he didn't care enough to question his reasons he merely pointed to the storeroom door hanging slightly ajar in its frame. Harry nodded his thanks and weaved his way in between the off-set desks.

Softly pushing the door open, Harry stepped inside the room where another boy a good head taller than himself was polishing questionable-looking vials with a stained rag. The brunet stepped over the overfilled school bag that had been left just inside the door and cleared his throat to alert the other boy to his presence.

"Granger?" The slender boy set down the beaker he'd been working on, and gave Harry a suspicious look. "What are you doing down here?"

"Looking for you," Harry said.

The boy folded his arms over his chest and glowered at him. "What for?"

"I wanted someone who actually knows what they're doing to be my partner for tutoring potions." Hermione bit the inside of her cheek at his skeptical look. "Would you mind, Severus...?"

* * *


	5. Snowcatching

**Completed:** (6/12/05) 10:59 AM  
**Posted: **(6/12/05) 11:05 AM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ PAY ATTENTION! Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N: _Yay! We're starting to lay the ground work for snogging goodness! Happy day! Hogsmeade trip next chapter.

* * *

Harry, who had spent the better part of the morning sequestered in the dorms doing Merlin knows how many advance assignments, startled the Marauders when he came down at half past noon bundled up in his winter robes. They didn't even notice his silent descent into the common room until Harry was halfway to the door. And if the brunet then noticed their abrupt cessation of conversation, it didn't faze him in the slightest and he continued out the portrait hole with a soft greeting and nod to Lily who was entering at the same time.

"Wonder where he's going," Remus mused, while James hastily messed with his hair only to have Lily breeze right past with scarcely a look.

"Who cares," James grumbled; now clearly not in the mood to talk to anyone about anything.

"Don't pout, princess." Sirius, lounged across the couch with his feet nearly in Remus' face, pulled his smuggled butterbeer back out from underneath the sofa's floorskirt.

"What's that bloke's deal anyway?" James mumbly-grumbled. He made grabby motions at Sirius, but the removed boy had no intentions of giving up his drink.

"Are you planning on making any sense at all, or shall we leave you to your Shakespearean tragedy-of-an-existence?" Remus was obviously not in the mood to tolerate James' grouchiness. James scowled Slytherinly and Sirius and Remus exchanged a discreet hit of knuckles behind Sirius' knees where James couldn't see and hid their grins.

"Harry! He's a dodgy character, is what," said James. He looked quite the King of Gryffindor sitting in the winged armchair, legs crossed and chin resting on his fist as he brooded.

"Harry's really nice!" Peter exclaimed.

"_Hmph_!"

"And he's _never_ grumpy," The blond boy muttered looking out the window.

Sirius' face was filled with surprise, but Remus was chuckling to himself highly amused. "Peter's right, for the most part," the brunet added quickly as the head Marauder threatened another hissyfit. "I'm just glad there's someone else in this school that spends as often at the library as I do."

"And isn't THAT weird?"

Remus frowned at James and now Sirius was laughing outright.

Flipping his long hair back over his shoulder rather effeminately, Sirius fixed his best mate with a knowing smirk characteristic of all Black descendents. "_You're_ just in a fit because he said right off the bat that you were being a bloody idiot for following after Evans like a panting dog."

"Though," Sirius mused to himself. "If Harry'd said it like _that_, I might've had to kiss the bloke full on the mouth. He'd have been my hero."

"You'd kiss everyone if you could, Padfoot," Peter laughed and started handing out the remaining butterbeers that were laying under the couch.

"Would stop it if I could." Sirius threw up his hands as if to say 'not-my-fault'. "It's how Italians say hello, mate."

" 'Cept, you aren't Italian," James pointed out; quickly losing his bad mood to the nonsensical conversation going on around him.

"And it's always been my fondest wish to become one," he replied easily. "I dream of the motherland every night. Quite repetitive actually. Dreams of little Italians who look just like me running amuck over Britain kissing everything in sight."

"I take it the notion is close to your heart?" Remus said dryly.

"Aye," he answered with a solemn nod.

"To Italians, then?" James suggested, wiggling his butterbeer.

"To Italians!"

The green-glassed bottles clinked together amid hearty laughter as they tried to end the toast by gulping down their whole butterbeers all at once, but aching jaws and hard pokes in the side made it difficult to down much of anything while one was laughing, so most of their drinks ended up on the carpeting and the coffee table.

It wouldn't be for another half hour until they began to wonder where Harry had gone.

* * *

Hermione sighed. She side-stepped a few more paces, looked up, and sighed again. She huffed, she growled, and she looked in general disdain upon the cute and innocent little paper disc sitting in the snow. She'd already charmed it against the damp cold, so she felt no remorse in kicking an irritated toeful of powdered snow over it.

For all she knew her limited time was running out, but the paper didn't seem to be sensing her frustration. If it would only be a little more cooperative, then she could find out how long she had to collect what she needed and _not_ be freaking out like she was. And then she could get out of the cold snow.

"Stupid thing," she growled.

"What the hell are you doing, Granger?"

Harry came out with a low clearing of his throat, and his cold fingers ruffled the snowflakes from his hair as he turned to face his new companion.

"Good morning, Lucius," he said without any emotion really tied to the simple statement – and certainly not malice. Sure he'd been a rotten father to Draco and was most decidedly evil, but Hermione didn't _precisely_ have a problem with the bloke on a personal level.

"Talking to oneself is such a Gryffindor quality," The blonde boy sneered, crunching a path around Harry and fingering his perfectly coiled Slytherin scarf in a way that seemed like he was contemplating its uses as a weapon.

"What are you, a cougar?" Harry frowned, turning around to keep the circling blond in his eyesight. "And I wasn't talking to myself; I was talking to this sun disc." He picked up the offending object in question and waved it in front of him in a tiny shower of snowflakes.

"Hmph. Even worse."

"Believe me," Harry said succinctly. "It wouldn't be happening if Divination weren't an entirely worthless pursuit and conveniently remaining so until I actually need it for something quite important, so you'll _excuse_ me if I feel the need to yell at something."

After her tirade, she realized that there was a better than even chance he would pull his wand on her and hex her into oblivion. But to Hermione's surprise, he started to laugh. It was rich and rolling, but subtly low; hardly the laugh of a teenage boy. If the Malfoy in her time had laughed like that she might have been less inclined to punch him.

"You've got quite a mouth on you, Granger," he said, bringing her back to her present time.

"Well stop staring at it and help me," Harry grumbled. "You're in Divination aren't you?"

With a scowl, Lucius Malfoy snatched the sun disc right out of Harry's hands. "I'm the best at _any_ subject," he boasted.

Harry smirked and the look was so apparently un-Gryffindorlike that he smirked back at him, until the brunet opened his mouth next. "If that's the case, then why am I beating you in all of them?" He said without inflection.

"Then you should be able to read a simple sun disc," Lucius snapped and flicked the paper circle back into Harry's face.

Cringing internally, Hermione sighed. "Lucius, wait!"

He spun back around, robes and scarves swirling around him, and was laughing that low thrum again. "What?" Harry demanded of him – immediately suspicious.

"You really aren't very Gryffindor, are you?" He chuckled. His breath came out in a fog of moisture that hovered uncertainly between them, before giving in to the arctic temperatures and freezing into tiny crystals along his hairline and across his eyelashes.

Forcing her gaze back onto his face as a whole was easier than expected as his words irritated her into pushing his line of speech farther. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I just assumed the Dysfunctional Foursome had sunk their claws into you. Surely in your month of relocation you've come to realize—" Hermione inhaled sharply through her nose as his wand was pressed to her throat. "—Gryffindors and Slytherins _don't_ mix."

Harry swallowed slowly but Lucius seemed to have no intentions of backing away and they stood concealingly close, calf-deep in crisp snow. Thankfully, with the exception of his hand on the back of her neck and the wand, they weren't touching. Hermione wasn't exactly ready to test her binding job just yet.

"I'm not going to draw my wand if that's what you're waiting for," Harry said calmly, despite the wild beating of his heart at the other boy's sudden change of personality. "And I'm not a Gryffindor; I'm a _person_. And I would appreciate if you wouldn't group me into a word that sounds as foul as the trash under your shoe when I'm about to ask you for help."

Lucius released him, a flick of his robe's sleeve so quick that his wand was a blur as it disappeared. Harry let out a slow breath and brushed back his bangs. Ignoring the blond's shrewd and calculating look that seemed to be trying to burn right through his skin, Harry bent and scooped up the divining tool, brushing it off slightly before he held it out again. "You must be very busy, but I wouldn't ask if wasn't truly important. Can you help me?"

"And the Dysfunctional Foursome?" He sneered, but at least he took the sun disc from his mittened hands.

"Well it's not about to become five anytime soon," Harry said dryly. "They tolerate me, but I have my studies to focus on. There's no time for being social."

He began spinning the different layers, aligning different symbols along the red line that bisected the conjoined circles. And Hermione watched in growing interest as he effortlessly moved through the steps required to make use of the object without so much as a pause to think or consider.

"It's not as though you can't be social and work at the same time," he told her, but it was clear his attention was on the disc.

"Hardly," Harry rejoined. "My house isn't renowned for-"

"Perhaps you just need the right company, Granger."

He handed Harry the completed disc, while his brown eyes were still open wide in shock. Had that been an invitation?

* * *

"James! What are you _doing_!" Sirius exclaimed in a hearty bout of laughter.

His bespectacled friend, cheeks flushed pink from drinking enough Butterbeers to make the subtle alcohol mount up, looked lazily down at his work and then back up at his barely suppressed dorm mate.

"I am _working_ on my _Potions_ essay..." the ravenet said with slow and deliberate phrasing, as though he could convince the smiling boy on the couch that he was _perfectly_ sober.

"Mhmm..." Sirius said in a noncommittal sort of way. He took another pull on his third butterbeer; taking a slower tandem than his best friend. "That's great, Prongs, but the parchment stopped about six inches back."

James looked down at his less than perfect penmanship going across the wood of the coffee table. "Oh, _fuck a_-"

"JAMES!"

"Sorry, Moony."

Sucking the end of his loosely knotted tie into his mouth, James made a few gagging faces at the cloth-y taste, then pulled the damp mass free with a show of bravado that brought in Sirius' laughter and began using it to scrub off the ink from the table. He was muttering something along the lines of 'Remus is gonna kill me' when Peter began shouting for them, his voice cracking more than once.

"Peter?" Remus said smoothly, and whatever question needed to be asked was held in his calm inflection. Unfairly, Remus could drink them all under the table and held more than one embarrassing secret about the rest on occasions where they got into the good stuff.

"What are you goggling at?" Was Sirius' curt demand, annoyed at being distracted from taunting James with the fact that yes, indeed, Remus _was_ going to kill him. And rather messily at that.

"It's, uh, Harry," Peter spoke up, forehead pressed flush against the cool window pane.

"You're drooling, Wormtail," James taunted. He wouldn't admit it under Veritaserum Remus was sure, but a surreptitious look at his friend's flushed face and a quick sniff gave the lycanthrope all he needed. The star Seeker had always taken for granted Peter's undying devotion and borderline obsession. Now that someone else – someone entirely less impressive – had taken his place, he was jealous.

No wonder their Boy Wonder made it obvious Harry wasn't to be included in their mischief making plans. He thought the new boy was sweeping the carpet out form underneath him and taking his place – it was only natural that he was jealous. Unfortunately, what James didn't realize and what would only make him more hostile toward the absent seventh year, was that Harry didn't seem to have much of an interest in joining them, much less usurping their "leader".

Somehow the even-spoken, but kind, new student was immune to the Marauders sway. And he took studying to an obsessed level that made more than a few Ravenclaws question his sorting. Hell! Harry even preferred reading about obscure historical goblin wars than eating, and was absent from many a meal. Remus doubted even he would have gone to such extremes if he hadn't become friends with the others. Despite all this, Peter's sudden development of outgoingness told the perceptive lycan that, no matter that everyone called Harry an incurable bookworm, he took time for the things that mattered, showing the same patience and dedication as he did when constructing his essays.

"Guys...seriously," Peter quipped, waving them to the window. "I think that's Malfoy with 'im."

"_What_?" Remus said, having to take a moment to process this.

Sirius, however was already up on his feet and stalking to the window. "What does that wanker think he's doing?"

"Well, they aren't killing each other," Remus said reasonably, popping up behind them both so silently they both jumped.

"_Yet_," Sirius finished for him and the brunet lifted an amused eyebrow.

"Well..." said Remus calmly. "We should go down and bail the bloke out before things start getting ugly."

"I'll do it!"

Three sets of eyes looked back at James in surprise. Sirius smirked at him, and the Head Boy not-so-subtly kneed his crumpled parchment over the black smear staining the coffee table. He coughed. "I've got a score to settle with that bleached broomstick anyway."

Scooping his cloak up off its home on the floor and not bothering to find a scarf, James threw the thick woolen cloth over his shoulders and took off at a jog for the portrait – hoping to dispense the light buzz in his ears from the butterbeer. Bouncing around in the doorway like a boxer getting fired up for a match, he greatly amused his watching friends before disappearing out into the hall.

"Do you even have your wand?" Remus' exasperated voice called after him.

* * *

"I think I ought to know what you're using this disc for?" Lucius said smoothly. Harry was turning it this way and that with a frown creasing his forehead, taking great care not to disturb the other's boys impeccably arranged circles.

"Hmm..." Harry muttered distractedly. "I need some vials of fresh snow fall, and it's imperative that I know the exact moment it's about to start so I can be prepared to collect it."

Grabbing the edge of the sun disc so he could move it closer to himself for inspection, he turned one layer a fraction and smirked. "Hope you're prepared now."

"Wha? It's going to snow?" Harry exclaimed, looking frantically over the sun disc to try and figure out what he'd seen. "When?"

Releasing his hold on the sun disc, the blond pointed up and Harry reflexively followed his gaze. "Now."

Sparkling, fluffy flakes were pouring down out of the gray clouded sky. The wind made them spiral in picturesque funnels and they danced their crystalline forms in a silent winter symphony as the first few opalescent motes fell into their hair and melted against their upturned faces.

Cursing, and forgetting that she had company at all. Hermione tugged off her mittens with her teeth and a quick wave of her wand turned them to clear, crystal vials. She uncorked them quickly and spelled them up into the air. A few of the white flakes landed on the rim and slipped in, but it was highly ineffective. She was prepared of course.

After charming the vials to freeze, she moved her wand expertly in the motions of a charm not taught to seventh years. Two great gusts of wind appeared and began funneling all the flakes around them down into the two bottles. A moment later and the tiny collectors were full, leaving an odd looking bubble around the pair temporarily devoid of snowflakes.

"Why is it you need fresh snow?"

Harry jumped, having forgotten that Malfoy was there entirely. He was sure he would have left ages ago. Quickly, the brunet ended the final enchantment and placed the restoppered vials into the snow bank at his feet.

Clearing his throat, Harry answered as neutral as he could given the circumstances. "I'm partnering with Severus for tutoring and independent study next term. We needed the snow to conduct our research."

"You and Severus?"

Harry shook his head to dispel the tingling cool snowflakes settling on his bare head. The cold air was making his nose tingle and he fought back a sneeze. "Well, he's the best at Potions there is, right?"

Lucius was still taken aback he could tell, despite his apparently ingrained frown when he quickly amended, "Second to you of course." His wry upturn of lips the only indication that his even words held a light tease.

"Do you _want_ to be hexed?" The Slytherin growled.

"Not particularly. Am I aggravating you?"

"Like a bloody Gryffindor."

Harry frowned and knelt in the snow to gather the vials, effectively and rather bravely ignoring the quite rude prefect behind him. Tightening the knot in his scarf, he began filling a small, almost travel-sized pewter cauldron with the trampled snow from last night.

"How are you storing it?"

Harry answered automatically. "Freezing Charm on the vials and cauldron; keep the snow bath. We're holding it in a potions freezer in one of the empty classrooms."

The blond teenager's brow was furrowed handsomely as Harry look back. He was shaking his head too. "No, no, that won't work. Even the slightest difference between cooling measures will stress the ingredient. It will lose its potency."

"We though of that," Harry said, and paused at the reassuring tone that had somehow made it into his voice. "The freezer is warded from tampering and we've already found a regulating spell to collate the temperatures."

"You're going to have to reinforce the spells," he warned.

A curt nod from Harry. "Severus is working out the schedule tonight."

"So, you're not completely hopeless then," sneered Lucius. "A reassuring phenomenon for your whole house."

"Why are you even out here, anyway?" Harry demanded, putting a hand on his hip.

"Not for want of a damsel-in-distress, I can _assure_ you," came the drawl.

Flushing, Hermione instantly dropped her hand off her hip and scowled at him; opting instead to cross her arms over her chest. It also had the added bonus of warming her hands as they were now sans mittens and had just been wrist-deep in bitingly cold snow.

"I was actually on my way to Quidditch practice when your clearly obvious loss of mental sanity necessitated my delay."

Harry'd kept him nearly twenty minutes from practice and the prat hadn't said a word! "Yes, you're very snarky," Harry said dryly, but couldn't help glancing back over his shoulder at the Quidditch pitch. Tiny black specks were already flitting about.

"You should go then..." he said slowly when Lucius made no move to leave.

"They can wait," the blond said pompously. "I'm trying to decide if you're completely cracked, in which case I'm not so sure I want you doing complicated potions with—"

"Do it on the pitch," Harry demanded, pointing strongly down the grounds.

He tossed back his ponytail, but Harry saw the gesture for what it really was as the top of Lucius' wand appeared beneath the cuff of his robe sleeve. The Slytherin slinked off down the path, but still leaving Harry with a parting barb.

"Don't be surprised if something terrible ought to happen to you tomorrow; though, I'm sure it's timing is entirely coincidence."

"And here I thought the intelligent company you mentioned earlier included yourself," Harry mused keeping his back turned. He all but heard the scowl as Lucius billowed down the path. Frankly, Harry was lucky to still have all his bits in place.

Packing the cauldron snow firmly, but not ice-hard, Harry buried the two vials and then re-packed the snow bath around them feeling wonderfully pleased with himself that he'd managed to secure a key ingredient with a week still to the end of the first term. This thought, however, reminded the uncomfortable girl within that she didn't know what on earth she was going to do for the Yule. She'd never felt so odd about presents before, and there were rules!

If they gave her presents she was unprepared to reciprocate she'd be proverbially screwed and failing significantly in her mission. If the situation was reversed then the awkwardness between them would choke the yule turkey. Hermione sighed and made a mental note to prepare a shopping list before the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. She had thought Ron and the original Harry were hard to shop for, but now she didn't even know _who_ to shop for.

"What the bloody deuce is that?"

Harry looked up in surprise as he was halfway through standing. The head Marauder himself was standing a few paces away up to his knees in a particularly windswept snowbank. He was giving her filled cauldron an odd face that scrunched up his nose in a weird fashion and consequently skewed his glasses which had fogged slightly due to the conflicting temperatures of the weather and his peachy, warm face.

"James..." Harry said dazedly, still in shock at his sudden and very solitary appearance. "What are you doing here?"

"Public grounds aren't they?" he grumbled and dug his chin deeper into the warmth of his cloak, regretting ever coming out. Hermione didn't know what had changed his attitude of her, er, Harry from the mischievous Head that had cajoled her out of the library that first day.

"The guys and I saw Lazy Luscious down here—"

"And you still think I'm a woman?" Harry teased softly, drawing material from that library visit. "We just talked is all, but I do appreciate your concern."

"You _talked_!" The bespectacled boy goggled, and his cheeks seemed already pinkened before the wind assailed them.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "_Yes_."

"Impossible! The smarmy bastard didn't even try and hex you?"

"Why would he?"

"_Because_! That's what smarmy bastards _do_!" As if Hermione didn't know. "Besides, they _hate_ us."

Harry flushed and shifted the frigid cauldron to the crook of his arm and the snow crunched underfoot even as the brunet praised the increasing snowfall forming a thin barrier between them. "James, er, no offense intended but, uh...I'm _not_ a Marauder. I'm not part of 'us'."

Beneath the messy fringe of his dark hair, James Potter's pink flush spread from his cheeks to his very roots. "Yeah, oh...well...I-"

"Don't worry," smiled Harry in an odd uptwist of lips. "You've all been really nice and I know you did everything you could to make my transition here easier," he went on – unaware of the guilt his trusting words dredged up in a sheepish James.

"Yeah, well, if you ever need anything..." James couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. This wanker was quite possibly ruining his life he was sure – evil incarnate – and he was stammering like a bloody first year.

Harry looked surprised too.

That _fucker_.

"Um, are you excited for the Yuletide?" Harry asked and James watched his hidden feet shift in the snow. No shit was _this _an awkward conversation.

"Yeah, I...yeah."

_Merlin's frilly knickers_ – the awkwardness was **spreading**!

"That's good."

"I guess. Sure."

"Yes."

"Yup."

"Mhmm..."

Like the horrific car crashes people ran to watch in the street as if they might get to see some fleshy bits go flying or (merlin-be-praised) a rocketing explosion, the dialogue between them was painful and monosyllabic like the loud **tics!** of a typewriter, but they could NOT stop! Be it pride, guilt, or the fact it was cold enough to freeze your arse right off, the two of them continued to stand there. Just _staring._

Harry was looking at him as though it were up to _him_ to man the defibrillators of their interchange. 'Kind and considerate', _ha!_ He was just lazy. Probably didn't even study in the library; just went in there to sleep and wank off and be lazily unsociable. James Potter was a veritable icon – the star of Hogwarts; and if a few devoted fans were to go as far as to dub him a, quote, 'Sex God', then so be it. He would dutifully step up to such obligations as well.

For he was James – perfectly perfect in every way.

And he couldn't even get his frozen tongue untied long enough to tell the ponce in front of him to bugger off. He couldn't say much of _anything_ really. Normally, he'd be saved by the immense groveling of fans and Sirius' predictable side-bars. So _why_ wasn't Harry groveling. When you realized the lackadaisicalness of the evil one, technically it was all _Harry's_ fault.

James stared hard at the silent boy and demanded to know why he didn't worship him like the Adonis he most assuredly was—

And there it was. A moment of clarity kung fu fought its way through the rage of teenage hormones and rampaging delusions of grandeur and the Head Boy's face turned slightly green. It couldn't be – He couldn't have spent all this time despising Harry because he didn't treat him like the others did; like a icon! And if an icon itself was nothing more than an object...

Bugger, shit, goddamn.

He detested Harry _because_ he hadn't objectified him. That was fucked up.

Urgh, no! James' teeth bit the inside of his cheek. This prick really _was_ trying to screw his life; _perfect_ life, actually. Peter and the others were brainwashed he was sure of it, and by Harry's dastardly hand no less! This was no studiously little bookworm with a heart of gold – at least, you'd think so the way Wormtail went on – but secretly a devious and manipulative Slytherin, taking pleasure in making him think about how others saw him and _analyze his feelings_, and blech!

Of course, he hadn't said a single word for the last few moments or so, but that didn't mean he wasn't using some sort of voodoo, dark magick mumbo jumbo. Probably planned on making him go nutters, then shipping him off to St. Mungo's. But he was on to him. For he was James Potter and he would not be so easily fooled by the small heart-shaped face set on slender shoulders, the curly mop that was always hanging over eyes, eyes wide and doe-gazed over cinnamon colored orbs...Circe's dressing gown -- the bloke looked fucking twelve years old!

James all but leapt out of his skin when the boy he was studying with such intense scrutiny moved under his gaze and actually took a few paces towards him. "You alright?" he asked in a low tenor that was rather staggering to see had lasted him to his seventh year. "You were staring off into space for a while."

The snow was spiraling down in great flurry-ringed torrents, sweeping tendrils of white specks across their hair and dusting the dark shoulders of the pair's robes. James blinked rapidly to try and gain a better focus, but his eyes seemed to automatically snap to the fluttering flakes, even watching one collide with the lenses of his glasses.

"I'm fine..." he murmured absently, but his attention was on a particularly ornate crystal of snow as it winged lazily back and forth. It wasn't going to land until it was bloody well ready, and it coasted the twisting wind fearlessly. It was the James Potter of snowflakes.

And it landed right on Harry's lashes.

Evil incarnate blinked, completely unaware that James' mouth had gone dry as he watched the melting bead of moisture roll along the crease of Harry's pert noise. It hovered after its shining trail had been made like a tear down his cheek, but the path was already being blown away as the droplet slipped into the dip of Harry's lips.

The dark magick was being invoked right that second, James was sure of it. He'd passed on his conspiracy to the snow and he'd foolishly allowed himself to be hypnotized. Damnit! He'd never die a hero's death this way, for surely he was going to suffocate if the oxygen didn't start making it past his mouth.

_Goodbye fans, goodbye Gryffindor. Goodbye Padfoot, old chum. You can have my broom; treat her right. Goodbye pudding and goodbye toast, I shall never again taste your wondrous delights—_

Then the spell was broken. Harry had licked his lips and killed the demonic snowdrop of hell. James had an urge to fall down to his knees and pray for surely a miracle had just occurred to save his valuable, perfectly perfect life.

_Thank you Moony – I'm sure you wished extra hard for my swift recovery. Thank you strawberries and things that smell coconut-y, and thank you mum – the world can thank your cheese sandwiches for making me so strong and hands—_

"I'm going back up to the castle. Maybe should see Madame Pomfrey."

Coming slowly back to himself, James whirled around and found Harry was already halfway up the path to Hogwarts. He scowled and made a great deal of ridiculous, but mean-spirited faces at the retreating back. That little munchkin was messing with his head, with his big freaking eyes and his crummy heart of gold. Trying to be all expertly in his silence on things he didn't know anything about. Nope, nothing. He was just pure evil behind that kiddie face. I mean, it wasn't as though he _liked_ being objectified – not that that was what was going on or anything. People loved him, they _adored_ him – WORSHIPED the ground he walked on...

Just not Harry.

With a groan and a scant look up to the iced windows of Gryffindor tower, he quite dramatically flung himself down into the snow.

For he was James Potter.

And he was fucking confused.

* * *


	6. Hogsmeade

**Completed:** (6/23/04) 9:40 PM  
**Posted: **(6/23/05) 11:10 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ PAY ATTENTION! Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N: _Dear gods! This would never end! It was supposed to be entirely Hogsmeade, but then the Marauders went off on their own and dragged the plotline along with it. More than likely Hogsmeade will continue next chapter, but this one was just getting too long already.

* * *

"HOGSMEADE WEEKEND!"

Peter fell right out of bed with a pronounced **thud!** hardly audible over Sirius' resonating bellows. The smallest boy made no move to reclaim his warm bed and it was entirely possible that he'd gone right back to sleep.

"Hoggy-hoggy-Hooooogsmeade!"

The hyperactive Gryffindor while simultaneously serenading, leapt the dangerous expanse that separated his bed from Remus'. The prefect groaned and dragged a pillow over his head to try and block out his friend's warbling; as though he actually stood a chance of getting back to sleep. Not with Sirius bouncing boisterously up and down, that was for sure.

"Ow!" The grouchy lycan grunted, shoving at the black haired boy's legs. "Oi, Padfoot; that was my arse!"

"Good. Hope I broke it."

Remus, who always seemed a bit scrawny and on the underfed side, actually had all the physical prowess of a human tank and, when combined with being forcibly awakened on his day off, it would be a life-assuring habit not to be on the receiving end of his brute force. A well aimed kick from Remus hit the obnoxious boy mid-bounce in the back of the knee. A kick fueled by Cranky Power, it was. Yelping – much like a dog – Sirius' legs went out from under him and he toppled unceremoniously off the bed.

"Ha ha! I live!" He declared, jumping back up onto his feet completely unfazed.

Remus groaned and dragged his sheets back over his head.

Smoothing back his hair, Sirius restrained himself from cackling evilly as he bounded over to Harry's bed and flung open the bed curtains. "Rise and shine, Ha—_what the deuce?_"

The bed beside Remus' was devoid of any person and already been impeccably made. The pillows were fluffed and neatly tilted against the headboard, Harry's pajamas properly folded and sitting in a short stack in front of them.

"Whu?" Remus' sleepy voice was muffled by layers of cotton. "Misplaced yur mirrur—"

"Harry; he's gone!"

A bleary and none-too-pleased-to-be-awake brunet head appeared from the bowels of what was once Remus' bed and glanced groggily over in the direction of Peter's snores before he ran a hand over his sleepy face and he looked at Sirius. "So?"

Sirius looked aghast between the empty bed and his best mate. "He _does_ know it's a Hogsmeade weekend, _right_?" Sirius-The-Pastor was on the lookout for sinners.

"The whole bloody tower knows thanks to your ruddy hollering," Remus complained, begrudgingly falling out of bed. With two of the rooms current residents making their temporary home on the ground, Sirius Black felt quite excluded. He promptly leap-frogged over Moony and flung himself out on the wooden-floor. Following the crowd was painful.

When Sirius finally got them all dressed and down to the Great Hall, they'd amassed quite a following of stragglers heading for breakfast and the chatter quickly went to topics of Hogsmeade after Sirius declared that any not doing so in his presence would find themselves on the receiving end of a Bubble-Head Charm, thus rendering them both ridiculous _and_ silent.

Covering a yawn with his hand, Remus grabbed the back of Peter's robes and yanked him out of the way just in time for Sirius to come barreling through the crowd and fling himself at the huge Hall doors that didn't exactly open wide for him. Peter winced at the echoing **bang!** but Remus had no sympathy for his idiotic friend. He did, however, push open the door for the dazed boy who was now stumbling around and blinking compulsively to dispel the spots in his vision and looking in general like a total berk.

When he did right himself and went running into the Great Hall, he was greeted by James jumping up onto the Gryffindor table. The pitcher of syrup he knocked over went dangerously close to dumping all over Lily, but the Head Boy didn't seem to notice as Sirius ran up screaming.

"HOGSMEADE!"

"HOGSMEADE!" James shouted back and leapt off the table to latch onto his long-haired friend before the bloke went careening into the breakfast table.

Awkwardly holding on to one another's arms and robes, the two wizards began to spin and jump around in a ridiculous half-dance that Remus, entering at a more sedate pace, had previously thought to be reserved solely for the occasions in which his two friends were completely pissed.

"HOGGY-HOGGY—"

Peter groaned beside him and Remus put both hands over his ears, neither wanting to hear Sirius break into song for the second time. Unfortunately, from what Remus surmised of the muffled roars he heard through his hands, James had joined in on the barbaric song. Damn werewolf hearing.

"MR. POTTER! MR. BLACK!" McGonagall bellowed from the head table. "Cease and desist _immediately_."

"But Professor!" James gave an excited whoop, "It's HOGSMEADE weekend!"

"Be that as it may," the tight-lipped Transfiguration mistress said dispassionately. "As Head Boy—"

"Of course, my dear McGoogles!" Sirius crooned, clapping a hand over his friend's mouth before he could protest and turning him away. "Shame on you, Jamsie," he reprimanded loudly and theatrically. "Giving my little pumpkin juice such stress. Shame, shame!"

"_MR. BLACK!_"

"You know I was going to ask my love _the question_ tonight, and now you've put her in a right foul mood—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Black!" McGonagall snapped sending the half-filled hall into titters. "And detention if you keep up this ridiculous display—"

"Ooh! She wants you _alone_, mate. Things are looking up after all—"

"Detention! Both of you!"

"Both?" Sirius waggled his eyebrows at her. "You _little minx._"

James crooked his fingers into a claw-like shape at Sirius and gave what Remus guessed was supposed to be a sexy growl. "_Rawr..._"

McGonagall was without words, but she did make quite a spectacle sputtering and turning a lovely shade of royal purple. All quite obvious signs she was about to blow, that were ignored by the deliriously happy pair. "I could talk for ages about your _ageless_ beauty, as you well know princess, but we must first rectify your earlier qualm..." Remus would never know how Sirius could keep spouting such dribble. It never seemed to bore him; not since he'd started the second week of first year.

Professor Flitwick actually helped McGonagall back down into her chair while James came bounding up the dais stairs. And when he crawled under the table and popped back up standing on Dumbledore's chair, McGonagall was positively shaking with rage but no sound came out of her floundering mouth as though there was no punishment she could say out loud that would be severe enough.

Sirius got up on the Gryffindor bench. "As Head Boy, you should be setting a good example for these impressionableand _devoted_ younglings—"

Something knotted in James' stomach and he found himself scanning the Gryffindor table for the missing brunet head.

"—leading you lot in the PROPER celebratory Hogsmeade song." Sirius finished, and James forgot everything else as all those eager eyes were turned on him. He drew his wand expertly, and charmed it to begin writing out the lyrics as they came up.

"For McGoogles!" He declared, gaining energy from all the attention. His wand promptly scribbled out the dedication with sparkling lines in front of him and drew a heart about it.

"Everybody now! You know how it starts!"

"Hoggy-hoggy-Hogsmeade!" The Great Hall boomed with the voices of its laughing students, and they readily followed the words that were being scripted out of James' wand. "You've got everything we need!"

It was off-key and hardly synchronized, but everyone was having fun with the Marauder's usual antics and some of the Professors were even joining in.

"We love you so Hogsmeade-y  
Our favorite place indeedy  
Get out of the way  
It's Hogsmeade Daaaaaaaaay!"

It should also be noted that the 'proper, celebratory Hogsmeade song' was being made up on the spot.

"We'll have to run not to freeze  
But at the end there'll be cheese  
Which is quite delicious  
And oh so nutritious.  
Or have some candy;  
Honeyduke's is dandy.  
We love Hogsmeade, oh because  
It gives us such a giddy buzz  
That we sing this crazy song  
Oh, we sing it all day long  
Hoggy-hoggy-Hogsmeade!  
To Rosmerta's with all speed—"

"Fill our hands with butterbeers—" Also note-worthy is that Dumbledore sings in a very nice bass.

With a dramatic gesture, James brought all the students back together for the final line, which was more shouted than sang and it thundered across the Hall with James, himself, belting out at the top of his lungs.

"Here's to you, Hoggy, CHEERS!"

Whistles, cheers, and catcalls accompanied the thunderous applause as James bowed with a broad grin. Hopping down he brushed off the velvet-cushioned seat before gallantly pulling the chair out for Dumbledore who'd made his way from the entrance up to the dais.

"Oh, thank you m'boy," the old wizard beamed, patting James' shoulder. "What a wonderful little ditty – I do so love singing," Dumbledore said in aside.

"And a lovely singing voice you have, sir," James complimented charmingly. "Perhaps next time your exquisite Deputy can be persuaded to join in?"

A vein was literally throbbing in McGonagall's temple.

Blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses, Dumbledore patted down his beard with a hearty chuckle. "You have my wizards oath, Mr. Potter, that I shall try my hardest in that endeavor. For Mr. Black's sake."

James grinned cheekily at McGonagall who had been shocked by the horrific thought into speech once more. "Surely, you are joking, Albus!" She exclaimed, her voice gone thin and reedy.

"An amusing tradition is a wonderful thing to start, Minerva." Dumbledore turned to the still-hovering James. "How very thoughtful of you..."

"You know me, sir," James said. "Above and beyond the call of duty. All in a days work, and so on."

"Brilliant!" Dumbledore chuckled. "You may return to your table now, before the passionate young Mr. Black begins to suspect a rival in his affections."

"ALBUS!"

"Thank you, sir," James said and quickly darted off, lest he face the wrath of the Great McGonagall. Normally, he'd feel a bit bad for whatever poor sop he left in his place, but Dumbledore could take care of himself where the Beast was concerned. And since James was rather fond of the old wizard, he hoped the nutter was still alive when he returned from Hogsmeade.

Sliding into his usual spot beside Sirius – currently making googly eyes at the "love of his life" without any concern for his own wellbeing – James was surprised to see Harry settled in across the table between Remus and Peter.

"Where the hell have you been?" He asked, wincing when it came out a bit crasser than he'd intended.

Harry took it all in stride, however, nose buried in a large book. "I was right behind Sirius—"

"You were?" The aforementioned ravenet exclaimed, breaking his gaze on McGonagall.

"—but then I stopped to pick up Dumbledore. You were obviously in a mood that usually results in lost points via McGonagall, and I didn't fancy her burning down the Tower while I was sleeping." Harry said all this in a blasé tone that was almost bored-sounding as he turned the page in his book without looking up.

"_You_ got Dumbledore?" Remus' mouth quirked in a sort of half-smile, too tired to be overly grateful. "Thank the Gods."

"We could've gotten in even _more_ trouble!" James exclaimed, looking annoyed. He didn't like knowing that Harry – evil incarnate, if you remember – had bailed them out of a messy encounter with the Beast.

"Not from Dumbledore," Harry said simply. Without pausing in his reading, he groped along the table until he found his goblet and took a small sip of pumpkin juice.

"We _could_ have," James insisted.

"But you didn't."

Sirius interrupted before James could protest anymore, and the Head Boy crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. "I didn't even see you join the group," Sirius was saying. "Were you being all stealthy and ninja-like?"

"Not particularly." In a very calm voice, Harry suggested: "Perhaps you were too busy running into doors to notice."

Peter laughed and a smile quirked Harry's own lips as Remus gave him a pity-me-for-what-I-have-to-deal-with look. Sirius grinned and shook a finger at Harry good-naturedly, who looked expectantly up at him over the top of his apparently engrossing book. "I'm going to forgive your abhorrently—"

"Do you even know what that word _means_?" Remus sighed exasperatedly; promptly rewarded by a piece of toast hitting him in the face.

"—your abhorrently _responsible_ action of earlier," the boy went on, with a glare at his crumb-faced friend. "Because it's Hogsmeade Day – the most wondrously wondrous of all days!"

"I appreciate that," Harry dryly answered.

"You'd better be coming," Peter told him stoutly. "You said you would."

Surprisingly, Harry closed his book for the first time since they'd sat down to breakfast, marking his page with a finger. Turning to give the boy next to him his full attention, Harry's normally placid face was changed as a warm smile came to it watching Peter devotedly skewer a sausage onto each tine of his gold fork.

"I said I will, so I am," the brunet told the blond beside him kindly.

"Good, 'cause I have no idea what to get you."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Get me for what?"

Peter gave him a weird look. "Fer 'ule," he mumbled through a mouthful of sausages.

"Oh! You don't have to get me anything, that's okay," Harry insisted, reaching for his goblet only to find that Sirius had purloined it and then proceeded to drain it. Harry frowned at him.

"I'll tell you what you can get me," the tallest Marauder said bluntly. Harry had the distinct impression Remus had rolled his eyes. "A _motorbike_."

Harry actually laughed out loud, shocking those within hearing range who hadn't heard anything louder than a chuckle come out of the reserved bookworm. Covering his mouth with a hand, he took the pumpkin juice Peter offered him and sipped it to assauge his mirth. "The day you get a motorbike," Harry told Sirius' curious face. "Is the day the world locks themselves into their homes for safety."

Ever the braggart, Sirius puffed out his chest proudly and said with a suggestive smirk, "They've already locked away their daughters."

"You're a menace to society," Harry accused, a tinge of amusement coloring his normally even tone.

"Exactly why I need a motorbike!" He insisted; Harry answering him with a definitive reopening of his book.

"Any other gift ideas," he asked, eyebrows raised inquiringly even as he sought for his place in the reading. "A sidecar for James? A safe relocation spot for Remus, far away from any roads with motorbikes?"

"Nothing tropical," said Remus seriously. "Can't stand beaches; the sand gets bloody everywhere."

Harry nodded as if making a mental note and yanked a wayward curl back behind his ear, but it was too short and bounced back in front of his eyes. "I'm sure I can find you something. A nice cabin in the mountains, possibly? Nothing too cold – a nice temperate zone..."

"You just described my dream home," Remus said, attempting to look dreamy-eyed but distinctly failing in his non-girlishness that Harry chuckled at the sight.

"You can just get me some chocolate frogs," Peter; his honesty making Harry smile. They all turned to look at him, though, when he added; "Or maybe a boat."

"Atta way, Petey!" Sirius applauded and the blond flushed with pride. "What about you, Prongsie?"

James smirked. "What could I possibly need in my perfectly perfect life?" Sirius punched him upside the head and Remus frowned at him.

"Yule isn't about getting what you need, it's for getting what you want," Harry said wisely. "So what is it that _the_ James Potter wants?"

Faltering under the intense cinnamon stare, James dropped his gaze and covered for it by putting his chin in his hand and dramatically drawling, "_What_ do I want? Hmm...so many choices!"

"Out with it already!" Remus demanded.

Snapping his fingers – the universal symbol for 'sudden revelation' – James declared "A ha!", triumphantly. "I have it," he said. "I would _very much_ like...world peace."

Someone down the table snorted and the snickering group turned to look at the owner. Lily Evans, scrunched uncomfortably up against one of the other seventh year girls to avoid the syrup spill on the bench beside her, looked disapprovingly down at James. He automatically seemed to deflate. "You're such a child, Potter. Some of us actually _do_ care about world peace..."

"Are you saying I don't?" He said defensively.

"Please," Lily tsked. "The only world you care about is the imaginary one you seem to think revolves around you."

"Ouch," Sirius hissed softly from behind him, but James barely heard him. He was staring at Lily in disbelief and trying to come up with something chivalrous to say back, but for once his Lily-wooing skills were faltering.

"We were just having a laugh, Lily."

James gaped at Harry who, now noticing the attention coming after his comment from the table, marked his place in the book with a clean napkin and set it down on his empty plate. "Do you always have to give him such a hard time?" The brunet asked calmly.

Lily bristled and her cheeks were a soft pink shade attractive with her dark red hair. "Sorry, Harry," she said sincerely. "Sometimes I forget there's finally a Seventh year with his head properly on his shoulders."

Harry shrugged. "No more so than the Marauders. And all James wants is for you to like him – he's been trying harder than anyone else would have in just the short time I've been here."

Now this was a topic Lily Evans could go off on forever, and she began ticking off faults on her fingers. "And I'm tired of him hanging all over me! He's egotistical, immature, obsessive, irritating—"

"Hey!" Sirius exclaimed in defense of his friend, looking non-too-happily at the redhead.

"Please, Lily," Remus started in placating voice. He respected the girl and it would be a shame if Sirius punched her in her pretty face. Luckily the hall was all-but empty now; less witnesses. "There's no need to argue—"

"Why are you even defending him?" Lily asked Harry, who was just as surprised as Remus that she'd completely ignored the lycan. "I know you aren't friends, but I thought you had better sense than to join his fanclub..."

Harry inhaled sharply and Peter stiffened angrily behind him. Hermione was hard fought to keep tears from coming to her eyes. She knew herself how spiteful Ron's annoyances could make her, but never had she been on the receiving end of such unchanneled mean-spiritedness. Magnanimously, Harry didn't blame Lily for her words, but it didn't stop it from hurting any less.

"What did Harry ever do to you?" Peter accused, bravely.

"Lily, there was no reason for that." Remus tired diplomatically. Lily, however, pushed back her bench and stood up, clearing getting frazzled from an encounter that must have been an all too frequent occurrence.

"I'm sorry," she said, but it was spoken to quickly to hold much meaning. "But I can't believe Dumbledore keeps letting that prat walk around like he owns the school. It's no wonder you didn't make Head Boy."

"HEY!" Sirius yelled so loudly, Lily took a step back. Remus' jaw was clenched and he was staring at his plate hard enough that if he blinked the gold metal might snap in half. "WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

She'd hurt Harry and Peter, she'd hurt Remus and James, and in doing all of this she'd hurt _Sirius_. Now he was pissed off and jumping at the bit to defend his friends. Lily, to her credit, immediately realized what her torrent of upset words had done and took another step back from the table. Harry watched it all go down with grim detachment – his indecision about the original-Harry seemed to be making the choice for him.

"I'm so sorry," Lily stammered. Her whole face was flushed red. "I didn't mean to—I was just...I'm sorry," she exclaimed one last time before hurrying out of the Great Hall. When she was gone, the Marauders turned to their own.

"Are you okay James?" Sirius asked brusquely, trying to hide an unmanly concern for his best friend.

"Fine..." His voice sounded dead. "Remus?"

"I'm perfectly alright," the prefect quipped stodgily. "Harry? Peter?"

"I'm really sorry, James," Harry said, sadly. "I shouldn't have said anything."

James snorted. He wanted nothing else than to blame it on the bloke, but he just couldn't bring himself to. It wasn't true and the more he repeated the scene over in his head, the more he realized how much Harry had been defending him to a girl the brunet had already admitted to thinking not worth the time and effort James had been expending. If that was the work of evil, then it was very tricky in its deceptively good appearance.

"Nah," James said, surprised his voice hadn't completely deserted him. "It wasn't your fault. And that thing she said earlier...about you—"

"Don't worry about it."

Sirius looked between the two of them staring at their plate or nothing at all and abruptly exclaimed; "Well, this is disgustingly depressing!" Remus was the first to look at him, his trained expression softening with a small smile. "What you need is to blow something up."

"Sirius..." James flicked bits of his soggy cereal at the boy, who wasn't in the least bit deterred.

"Nope! It's Hogsmeade day – remember the _song_?" He all but hoisted the Head Boy out of his seat. "Nothing is going to ruin this glorious day. It is the King of kings of Kings of Days!"

James couldn't help but smile at the dramatics, but taking pity on the exasperated look of Remus' that usually came out in Sirius' presence, he grabbed the taller boy in an impressive headlock.

"Oh, shut up you ponce," James ordered. "As for the rest of you" – he smiled – "let's get out of here."

"Zonko's! Stat!" Sirius choked out.

"Hey! He talked."

They all looked at Peter; Remus halfway through standing.

"What?"

Peter smiled anxiously. "Well, he _did_, and James said not to. Shouldn't there be some sort of, er, punishment?"

Harry smiled and looked to James who soon broke out in what could only be called a diabolical grin. He flexed his free hand, over-exaggerating as he cracked his knuckles.

"Uh, Jamesie boy?" Sirius sounded nervous. He started to squirm in the headlock, trying to look up at James' face which was currently making Remus and Peter snigger. "I don't think there's really any need for—"

"Peter's right, Padfoot," James said apologetically. "I think there needs to be a little punishment. Bad dog."

Harry slipped his book back into his rucksack and wondered with a wry grin how often they let things like that slip. His attention was brought back by Sirius' horrified screams.

"Sorry, mate. Brought it on yourself..." James was saying. With his free hand he was horrifically ruffling Sirius' long hair into one big frizzled knot. The bespectacled boy was actually having trouble keeping him in a headlock with all the wild flailing he was doing.

"You're _sick_," was what Sirius said when he was finally released.

"Come on kiddies," Remus drawled. "Let's get to Hogsmeade before all the chocolate's gone."

"I can't go like _this_!" Sirius cried, voice going a little shrill. "My perfect hair is—"

"—still hair," Harry finished in a quiet voice that made it seem as though he wasn't sure his input was welcome.

"You're such a girl," Peter snickered.

"Oh no," James interceded, despite having been laughing at the bushy-haired Sirius himself. "We've already named pretty-boy Harry here the woman of the group."

Harry glared, flushing slightly at the laughter around him, and said darkly, "Coal. That's all you're getting for Yule."

"Guys...Hogsmeade," Remus repeated.

"Oh, yeah!" James grinned. "Let's go Big Hair."

Sirius was dragged along whimpering as the group made their way en masse out the Hall doors. He was desperately trying to tame his excessively long hair, but James wasn't a longtime hair-ruffler for nothing. The long black strands were totally and irrevocably mussed. "I curse your children," Sirius decreed in lament. "And your children's children, and your dog. And your stupid hair..."

"Whatever."

"Cursedy curse CURSE!"

"Come along, Harietta!"

"Sirius screams like a girl too, you know..."

* * *

Hermione had learned something very quickly about the Marauders: not only did they all like to hear themselves talk, but unfortunately, they were all ridiculously knowledgeable in their given areas of expertise. Most times, it was a stressful gauntlet to get wrapped up in a heated debate with one of them, always striving to hold her own. But it was an undeniable challenge, and she found herself with the energy to take it up on their snowy walk down to Hogsmeade.

Harry started with the most approachable of the four, Peter, with whom he was surprised, but ultimately pleased, to find he had a strong bond with. Years of friendship with a half-giant fond of finding dangerous, man-eating creatures to cuddle as pets allowed Harry to slip in small nuggets of rare knowledge in accompaniment to the blond boy's excited chatter on Magical Creatures.

Remus joined in soon after – as well-versed in DADA as she'd remembered him being – and their talk turned to the working with and defending from the more irksome of beasts, like lethifolds. And like classic Sirius, the tangled-haired boy couldn't pass up an opportunity to lull the usually composed Remus into bickering. While the brunet snapped obscenities about his 'Big Hair', Sirius dodged his half-hearted punches of annoyance and rambled off reasons from his apparently "legendary" list of why Transfiguration reigned supreme. Harry's eyes crinkled around the edges to hear that McGonagall was featured in a key number of them.

He was quite surprised when James engaged him in a healthy conversation over Charms, but threw himself into it easily, leaving the other three to bicker and wrestle each other through snowbanks.

"—but as you know, the Disappearing Potion was invented long after wizards discovered that demiguise hairs could be woven together to make Invisibility Cloaks," Harry was saying.

"Exactly," James agreed. "That's why the next logical step is spellcrafting an Invisibility Charm."

"It took decades for a stable enough potion to come out, and that was only fourteen years ago," Harry recited promptly. "It will be at least ten more years before someone's developed a prototype."

"I've actually already started working on one," James said off-handly, stuffing his hands into the warm pockets of his trousers. He made it out to be nothing of a big deal, but it was clear he was proud of himself. Harry just gaped.

"Really?" His voice was a warming mix of amaze and excitement. "How far along are you?"

James shrugged, but the sudden attention and avid interest from Harry was quickly bringing a smirk to his face. He waxed nonchalant. "I dunno. It's just something I'm working on in my free time..."

"Quite an undertaking for just a hobby," Harry commented; shivering at the end of his line as the newly started up snowfall saw fit to tumble down the back of his jumper. "Are you going into spellcrafting after Hogwarts?"

A snort. "Not hardly. I'm gonna become an Auror." The bespectacled boy grinned at her and roguishly raked his hand back through his snowy hair. "I plan on saving the world and becoming terribly famous. The usual."

"Oh..."

James' cocky smile fell and he only had a moment to wonder if it was disappointment he was seeing in the shorter boy's face, before he was given an obviously strained smile. It disconcerted the Head Boy that he should feel so odd – what did it matter if the blighter was somehow "let down" by him?

It _mattered_ because James Potter was **not** a disappointment; he was not a cause for dissatisfaction. It just wasn't done! He was just about to open his mouth and yell at the distracting boy to stop going against all the rules and norms that propped up his perfectly perfect world, but the other boy beat him to speaking first.

"I just hope the rest of us are as bountiful in our talents as you," the brunet said quietly. He smiled wanly at James before seceding to Peter's incessant pull of his cloak, trying to show him around all the wonderful little shops all at once.

The Head Boy however, was nothing if not persistent, and he was bound and determined to get to the bottom of Harry Granger's weird voodoo. Their conversation was far from over and he wasn't about to let Peter drag the bloke off before he got some answers (and damn good evidence that the new student wasn't carrying out the work of the devil or some equally demonic demigod).

But apparently, Peter wasn't the only one he was going to have to get rid of because even as he reached out to snatch Harry's hood, Sirius swooped in and practically threw himself on top of the poor bloke. Long arms landing heavily over Harry and Peter's shoulders, with Sirius-of-the-Big-Hair firmly ensconced in the middle, the two laughing Marauders led a contradictorily serene Harry in a staggering path towards Zonko's.

Peter was gibbering that it would be the perfect place to shop for Sirius and James, to which the former of the mentioned pair corrected in an overly loud voice that he 'seriously doubted Harry would find his motorbike in a jokeshop'. James felt Remus's presence move up beside him and the additional body helped to keep a relatively dim pocket of heat around them in the wintry cold. For some reason, James couldn't make his feet follow, but it seemed his studious friend wasn't in any hurry to catch up to their friends.

Remus glanced sidelong at his longtime friend and noted the subtle crease around his mouth and the sharpening furrow knitting his brow; signs that James Potter was concentrating very hard. It wasn't difficult to follow the focused gaze to the brunet boy currently being squashed in the doorway of Zonko's, his too-large clothes rustling in the wind. He and Peter had been trying to get the gaunt boy to eat more, but to no avail. And somehow, Remus' figured Harry's eating habits weren't the reason for James' consideration.

"He is pretty, er..._attractive_, you might say," Remus commented lightly.

James' jaw dropped and he spun to look at the wiry boy so fast his glasses skewed on his nose. Remus wasn't looking at him, however, instead scratching thoughtfully at his chin and grimacing a bit at the soft stubble along the underside of his jaw.

"I guess 'magnetic' is a better word for it," he mused, more to himself than James. "I can't think," he grumbled and blew into his clasped fists to warm them. "And who could in such bloody awful weather?"

"What do you mean, 'magnetic'," James demanded – having recovered from his earlier shock in misunderstanding – earning a look of mild surprised from his werewolf friend. "He hasn't really connected with anyone but, Peter, ya know?"

Remus shrugged with one last puff into his hands. "True, but I don't really mark him as the sort of person to seek out close relationships. He certainly doesn't share your flair for outgoingness, nor Sirius' _grossly_ over-eccentric charm with the female populace—" the last bit was said with a hint of the dry insult left over from earlier bickering.

James had pulled his extra pair of mittens from his pockets and quickly bespelling them with a warming charm, he handed the woolen gloves to a grateful lycan. "His behavior doesn't seem bizarre to you?"

Remus snorted, "Hardly! He's just like I was my first year here. It's rather nostalgic, actually."

"The formation of the Marauders loosened you up, but that's not the point –" he shook a disapproving finger at the laughing brunet's face. "You're running off on the original topic."

Eyebrows arched articulately. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed?"

James scowled at him, but Remus just shrugged.

"Everyone seems to gravitate towards him whether he or they are aware of it at all. We've spent ages doing homework together, but I hardly know anything about him other than that he can study me out of the library about as admirably as I can drink you lot under the table." The strength of the simile was not lost on James; unusually quiet for a conversation between the two of them. "And Peter befriended him right from the off. You know? _Peter_ Peter? The Peter who melts into goo at the sight of you playing Quidditch and can't possibly string a sentence together to a stranger without stuttering – remember him?"

"Not really," James admitted.

"Me neither," Remus confided as well; softly, but not in an upset way. "I haven't seen that Peter for a month now, and I hope that I won't ever again."

"How can you say that?" James exclaimed, fists clenching. "Harry came in and messed with everything and changed poor Wormtail into something he's not."

A frown crossed the Gryffindor prefect's face and he regarded his best friend, so near to a rage, with silent contemplation. "No, James...he helped Peter become what he could have been a long time ago if he hadn't felt trapped under the impressive shadows of James Potter and Sirius Black, and even my own a little, to be sure..."

"No way!" The Head Boy exploded. "Peter is our _friend_; there was no reason for him to feel...'inferior', or something!"

"He did," was Remus' answer. "But Harry's intuitiveness is consistently on the mark, and he has erased unfortunate past mistakes without any motivation other than it was the right thing to do."

"It's dark magick – I'm telling you!" James insisted. He ran both hands raggedly through his hair and growled when not even ruffling could assuage his frustration. "He's put the wonky on all of you so you can't see his sinister ulterior motives; and they are _sinister_, my friend!"

Remus looked as if he's just swallowed a whole live phoenix and then been told it was about to go through its burning period right in the middle of his stomach.

"Harry is _evil_. He does, ya know, weird, evil-y stuff, and makes me think about things and, and –" he waved his arms around wildly pointing at the flakes floating down around them. "He put the voodoo on the SNOW, it's...it's like _possessed_!"

The phoenix had now moved to Remus' lower intestines and regained enough energy to peck and bite.

"He's-he's...he's messing with my head!"

"I can see that..." Remus said slowly, calmly digesting the heartburn-inducing avian and speaking slowly so as not to startle the crazy person.

"What do you think I should do?" James asked, rubbing his palms anxiously on the thighs of his trousers. Rarely did he look so out-of-sorts (for he was James Potter).

"I think you ought to lay off the Crazy Flakes," Remus said. "And until you do there shall be no therapeutic blowing up of things..."

"I told you! He's _too_ nice and goody-goody and...," James laid a hand over his eyes and tried to regain the composure that all-too-quickly left him when he was on the subject of one Harry Granger. He groaned slightly. "He's gotten to you too..."

Remus stared at him, and deadpanned; "You're an idiot." Then he was following after the others, muttering under his breath, and leaving James standing alone in the cold; shoes unpleasantly filling with snow.

* * *

"And this is an Exploding-Itch Dungbomb!"

Harry almost took a step backwards under the onslaught of toys and pranking paraphernalia that Peter was running in a constant stream underneath his nose. Many of which had odd scents to them, the conflicting aromas making the brunet's nose twitch.

"They're brand new this fall," he chattered, sticking one of these apparent world-wonders quite nearly up Harry's nose. Personally, he didn't want to find out what happened to an Exploding-Itch Dungbomb when stuffed up one's nose. "Even stinkier and then if someone tries to mess with 'em, they blow up all over – worse than an Itching Charm. I heard it lasts for _days_."

"We ran out of our stock trying to get the Slytherins to bite." Harry looked up in surprise at Sirius leaning casually on one of the tall stock shelves; having seen him wander off into the shelves when they'd walked through the door, Harry hadn't been expecting him to wander back so soon.

"James is hoping we can trick Snivellus into blowing one," Sirius smirked.

Harry had already been informed by a less-than-pleased brunet prefect that 'Snivellus' was the pseudonym for one Severus Snape. Even had he not known of the cruel nickname, the knowledge of it in this time was frown-inducing. "You shouldn't call him that," Harry told Sirius disapprovingly, but turned a small smile to Peter and gestured approvingly at the dungbombs as he handed them back to the blond.

"Snivellus, Snivellus, Snivellus," the raven-haired boy chanted childishly. "We've put bets that he'd try and wash the itch off, and thus achieve our lifelong goal."

"Which is?"

"To get that greasy git to wash his hair," he laughed in a short bark at Harry's expression of censure, and tugged at his own locks. "A worthwhile mission too. For the good of all wizardkind Severus Snape _must_ wash his hair."

Harry sniffed and accepted Peter's newest object and perused it absently. "Just don't let off any when I'm around, or I'll have your head for McGonagall, Black."

"Not like you'd be hanging around those Slytherin wankers anyway—" he looked at him strangely for a moment. "Luscious not bothering you again is he?"

"No, but _Severus_ is to be my tutoring partner next term."

"WHAT!"

Picking up his heels, Harry walked past a fish-mouthed Sirius and an unsure Peter to scan the back of the store for a case of Filibuster Fireworks. The store owner, a rather boisterous and rounded man, bustled by to see if he needed any help, the offer of which Harry politely declined. Moments later, Sirius was turning round the corner after him.

"I needed a partner," Harry said curtly before any sounds could make it out of Sirius' open mouth. Fingers, their nails bitten down to the quick, flitted over the shelves of the stacks and their occupants.

"But _Snivellus_—"

"—Could probably cause you a few painful consequences if he ever got a potion vial close enough to your pumpkin juice," he finished for him.

"That greasy git couldn't get close to me without getting my wand up his arse." Sirius looked particularly smug crossing his arms over his chest.

"How uncomfortable for the wand."

Knowing the ravenet was staring fixatedly at him, Harry straightened slightly under the scrutiny and ignored Sirius right properly. "Purple, sparkles..." He murmured slightly to himself. "They can have leopard-print firecrackers, but no bloody black ones – that's hardly fair."

Pushing Sirius aside, for he was characteristically blocking the entire aisle, Harry traded smiles with Peter and hurried up to the front desk where the Zonko's owner was fiddling with a Babble Doll. Sirius turned lazily on his heel and followed him, just slowly enough to be considered creepy had Harry been of the female inclination.

"Excuse me." The brunet cleared his throat over the slightly off-pitched chattering of the miniature mâché mannequin sitting beside register. "I may need your help after all."

"Oh?" Hugo Pinnings looked up through his thick glasses and beamed. With an enviable back hand swipe, the mannequin quickly found a new home on the store floor. "Collecting for the Marauders?"

"Why—er, no," Harry said quickly, realizing that Sirius was probably still hovering behind him like a smirking idiot. "I was just wondering if you happened to have any black Filibuster Fireworks; there weren't any on the shelves."

Hugo patted his rotund belly proudly and winked at Harry. "Oi! I just so happen to be having one box here under the counter. I had a feeling somebody might be needing 'em, so I set the lot under safe keeping til' a properly deserving young rascal such as yourself came along."

"You don't mind?" Harry was nothing if not genial.

"I've never misjudged a customer yet," the man boasted proudly, but with a decided twinkle in his eyes reminiscent of Dumbledore.

He pulled the trademark red box out from underneath the counter, probably somewhere near the discarded doll's feet, and bagged it for him while Harry counted out the proper amount of sickles from his trouser pocket.

"I'll take that."

Harry all but flung his coins onto the counter as Sirius walked briskly off, his bag hanging from long fingertips. Hugo chortled and watched the shorter boy chase angrily after the first for a few more seconds before bending down with a grunt to pick up the Babble Doll.

"Sirius! Give me that!" Harry shouted, dodging two third-year Hufflepuffs.

"I only want to help you, Harietta," he called back, glancing over the opposite shoulder of the one across which a nondescript white bag was swinging. The Hufflepuffs giggled and a flushed Harry almost got stuck in their numerous shopping sacks and tripped.

"I'm quite able to carry my own things," Harry all but growled, and in a bit louder voice so that he'd be heard, said; "And **stop** calling me that."

"We've never had a woman in the group before," he went on. It was aggravatingly annoying to be led on a merry chase around a joke shop when your prey was easily admitted through the crowds, but those same deceptively cooperative students became human roadblocks for yourself. "'Cept for that cherry-headed bint. She came closest, but Prongs won't be going for that bitch anymore."

Harry stumbled in shock and almost went careening into a display of Daring Dissolving Drops. Hearing it aloud made Hermione feel ten times dirtier. Sirius had stopped too, but Harry couldn't find his feet fast enough to catch up.

"You don't actually think he's still interested in her, do you?" Sirius looked horrified, before shaking it off. "No way. He couldn't possibly after she ran off at the mouth at breakfast."

Harry ran up to him and grabbed at the bag containing his fireworks. "Alright, Black, you've had your fun."

Sirius spun around, thus yanking the bag out of his hands, and smirked. "Not nearly; there's still loads of fun to be had."

"Not by me," Harry said seriously. "Now the sooner you give me back my bag, the sooner I can go off and find you something non-motorbikey for a Yule present."

"No motorbike, no fireworks."

Harry frowned. "You're being ridiculous."

"I'm also being a good head taller than you, pretty boy," Sirius mocked. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Almost too quickly for Sirius to react, Harry bent low at the knees and slipped beneath the other boy's arm, latching both of his hands onto the plastic bag. But Sirius was holding it too tightly and he spun around immediately after the half-second it took to react to Harry's streamlined movement and grabbed the shorter boy's wrist as he stumbled after the bag that was turned away from him. Harry shook him off and made another futile attempt at the bag. Laughing wildly, Sirius continued to swat him away and all-in-all thwart his every effort.

Finally, Harry had had enough and was regrettably forced to take a shot below the belt, as it were. Going up on tiptoe to look over the taller boy's shoulder, his sienna brown eyes widened and he, for all appearance, was flabbergasted. "M-McGonagall!"

"What? Where?"

Sirius spun around wildly and Harry flung his whole body on the bag as though it were a life preserver and he a drowning boat-wreck survivor.

"That was rotten!" Sirius exclaimed, but his outraged tiff what somewhat deflated with Harry practically hanging off his back.

With a wrench, the brunet had pulled the white bag out to the front and with both arms wrapped protectively around it, Harry attempted to remove it from his thief's grasp. "Sirius!"

"I'M carrying it!"

It should be noted that Sirius is the Gryffindor Beater. It should also be further noted that Sirius is a top-notch 'yanker'. Quite determined to keep possession of that which was not his, the ravenet tightened his grip on the bag's handles and 'yanked'. _Hard._

Harry lost his balance up on his toes the way he was and – for he was equally stubborn in holding on – was tugged forward right along with the bag. Harry had just enough time to slide his arm protectively over his chest before the two of them collided. Sirius let out an 'oof' of air as Harry's elbow connected with his chest, but Harry's pained 'ow!' – that stemmed from a solid knocking of foreheads – was muffled abruptly as the rest of Harry's face followed his forehead, and a cross-dressing Hermione Granger found herself kissing Sirius Black.

Actually, it was more like mouth-to-mouth. Their noses were mashed to the side and Harry's lips would probably be bruised after their solid collision with Sirius' teeth. Horribly awkward moment that this was, Harry decided to end it. Feigning a continued off-balance, Harry slid over to the side and caught himself on one of the shelves.

Harry licked his lips nervously, then cursed himself when he tasted the sweet, sugary tang of the syrup Sirius' had put on his pancakes at breakfast. He glanced discreetly up at Sirius from beneath his eyelashes. If Sirius' eyes were any wider they'd fall out.

Shitgoddamnbuggerfuck.

Sirius hadn't been kissing Hermione; he'd been smashing mouths with _Harry_ – and last time Harry checked, Sirius Black was very much in love with the female anatomy. And he wasn't about to let the Marauder discover _that_ juicy secret.

"Fine. You can carry it. Set any of them off and I'll hex you." Hermione was vaguely surprised at the calmly spoken words coming out of Harry's mouth before the brunet was making his exit just as Remus and then James entered the shop.

James looked back at the closing door behind him and then at his best friend standing in the in the middle of the store with a shocked look on his face and a rather crumpled bag in his hand. The Head Boy's face furrowed in confusion to match Remus' curiously quirked eyebrow.

"Did something just happen?"

* * *


	7. I Never

**Completed:** (7/10/05) 10:55 PM  
**Posted: **(7/10/05) 11:40 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ PAY ATTENTION! Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N: _OhEmGee! This is a freakishly long one in apology for abandoning you lot for 10 days. And it's got some GOOD stuff in it too! Mmyeah! Won't tell you any more than that 1) 'cause there's too much, and 2) 'cause you'll just have to read it yourself!

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure exactly where she was going. There hadn't really been the time for an intricate escape plan somehow involving a poof of smoke and daring leaps across the rooftops. She'd forced her footsteps to remain calm paced until the door shut behind her, to make sure James and Remus didn't cotton on to any sort of problem she'd left behind, but after it did, she slipped around a corner and took off running. It was a panicked voice in her head, a screaming in her legs. She couldn't leave Hogsmeade, but still she needed a place alone to think in place of her beloved Library.

As the lactic acid began to build up from her sudden, strenuous run, her calves began to burn and her knees popped slightly in rounding a shop corner. Almost near her desired spot, however, she didn't slow in her mad run down the snowy path and consequently fell right onto her arse and tumbled down in a flurry of wet snow.

The trip ended with her sprawled out on her back at the bottom of the hill, and if she tilted her head back just so she could see the upside down visage of the Shrieking Shack a ways past the chicken-wire fence. Not even the birds dared come this close to the supposedly haunted hovel leaving Hermione in the perfect silence she needed. The only sound was that of the snow; crunching under the weight of her body as she shifted, the tapering off **woosh!** of the snow she'd rolled through sliding down the hill after her, and the sounds of whispers accompanying the ivory flakes spiraling down through a gentle breeze onto her upturned face.

Lying here, with the snow soaking through her clothes and a vicious rock jabbing painfully into her right kidney, Hermione Granger found peace.

She was overreacting. The kiss – if that's what you called banging your mouth into someone's teeth – meant less than nothing. It wouldn't ever be anything, never was anything, and certainly wasn't imagined of not being nothing. Sirius Black kissed everything, whether or not it was capable of kissing back. And he was an absolute wanton, loitering under the mistletoe the professors had set up around the castle.

Of course, all those kissing incidents were preceded by Sirius Black being very much _sloshed_.

The snow was catching in her eyelashes, but her arms felt like lead beneath her soaked robes and she didn't feel much like trying to lift them so she left the flakes where they fell; eventually melting against the flushed heat of her face and rolling down her temples before the wind dried the tracks off her skin.

This was entirely Sirius' fault. If that prat hadn't held hostage her fireworks they wouldn't have kissed. Simple. One minute they'd been fighting over that stupid bag and the next thing she knew their bodies had made a painful acquaintance with one another. If she hadn't thrown her arm between them...Hermione shuddered to think what would have happened. She wasn't exactly ready to test the quality of her binding just yet.

It wasn't just the fact that the so-called "kiss" had occurred in the first place that was aggravating her, but in small part because it had been so bloody awful as well. If she couldn't even call it an actual kiss in her own mind then how terrible must it have been? In a morbid sort of fashion, Hermione was glad that Sirius was dead in her future – if he'd figured out she'd been "Harry", she never would have heard the end of it.

_But what if your being here stopped his death?_ Her pesky inner voice said.

Bemoaning the possibility, despite how awful it sounded when you thought about wishing someone would just stay dead, Hermione closed her eyes and mourned her tattered pride. If this one incident ruined her mission, she'd never forgive herself, not to mention more than a few consequences to deal with when she returned home.

No, nothing could happen. The mouth-to-mouth was a bit of a hitch, but it had come and gone and nothing further would occur because of it; Hermione would make sure of that. Acting as though the entire thing had never happened would be easy, but she couldn't help but feel the sudden urge for something cinnamon as her tongue swiped at the droplets of melted snowflakes beading on her lips.

Hermione groaned and shook her head disparagingly through the snow. This could _not_ be a something.

"Granger?"

Hermione started then relaxed back into the snow, recognizing the silky voice and reverting back into "Harry".

"Good afternoon, Severus," he said, letting his eyes remain closed.

"What are you doing lying about in the snow like a bloody penguin? You'll freeze to death." The snow crunched under heavy footfalls and Harry listened to the other boy approach his position and then stop a few feet off.

"I appreciate your concern," Harry said, mildly sardonic, "But I assure you it's nothing a piping hot butterbeer couldn't cure."

"I didn't know you were completely daft when I agreed to partner with you." The classic sneer was evident in his tone and Harry sat up, blinking back snowflakes.

"I'm not 'daft', as you so eloquently put it," he said with a bit of a smile. "But it's too late to back out anyways. Besides, I for one am terribly excited about our up-and-coming research."

The young boy's arms were crossed defiantly over his gaunt chest, his whole body a bit wiry and lanky under his expensive robes, and his face was one of apathetic indifference. "It should be..._intriguing_," was what he said.

Not one to press, and knowing from experience that this was all he would get from the future Potions professor, Harry switched to a much simpler and less tense topic. "Are you enjoying your Hogsmeade trip?"

Severus scoffed. "After four years it is hardly anything to get exorbitantly excited for."

Harry nodded. "I suppose so. Here for Yule shopping then?"

Severus, looking decidedly more uncomfortable as time progressed, narrowed his eyes surreptitiously at the brunet. He gave one curt, gruff nod before burying his chin further into his Slytherin scarf.

"The same for me," said Harry.

"You seem to be doing quite well so far," Severus mocked, lifting one eyebrow acerbically. "Waiting for the gifts to come and find you?"

Harry shook his head, smiling in a ghostly upturn of lips. "I'm not _that_ daft." He sighed and pulled up his knees so he could rest his arms across them. "No, actually I came here to think for a moment."

"The same for me."

Curbing his surprised reaction, Harry clambered to his feet – sopping clumps of slush splattering along the ground – and gathered his cloak tighter around him, though it was now quite useless. "Well, I've finished my brooding, so you're quite welcome to the spot."

Severus inclined his head in thanks, and Harry turned to go when he heard the unmistakable sound of Peter's fluctuating voice calling for him and froze.

"Harry! HARRY?"

Grabbing the shocked Slytherin roughly by shoulder of his robes, Harry dragged him protesting behind one of the snow drifts that had drifted against the fence and shoved him down and out of sight. The Slytherin, however, was in no mood to hide and he was struggling to pull his wand from his sleeve with Harry's grip scrunching up his robes.

"_Let go!_" he hissed and Harry was suddenly struck by the fear the Slytherins in her time were so good in inspiring in simpering Hufflepuffs.

"I'm sure you're an expert duelist," Harry whispered back fiercely. "But that doesn't change the fact that they're four and you but one. It may be selfish, but I'd really like to have my potions' partner still in one piece!"

Giving him one more rough shove downwards, to insure that he wasn't about to dart out, Harry hurried around the snowdrift and up the slippery slope just as the Marauders rounded the corner.

Peter was in the lead and James, ever the leader, was just a step behind him. Next came Remus, trying to shrink several large Zonko bags while he walked. Taking up the rear was Sirius.

"Hey guys." Harry went for nonchalance.

"Where've you been?" Peter asked, panting slightly from the apparent effort of tracking him down. "You ran out of Zonko's so fast, James thought you needed the loo."

"Hex me silly! You're all wet!" The aforementioned James exclaimed, stepping up to Harry. He picked at the sodden wool of the shorter boy's robes and the material made a squelching sound as it peeled away. "What've you been doing Harietta?"

"You know, just thought I'd have a lie-in under some snowbank," Harry's joking words had the same effect, even though they were uttered without particular humorous overtones. There was still a veritable salt shaker of snow in his tangled curls, but the tiny flakes felt nice and cool as the melted from the heat rising into his face at just one glance to the straggler of the group. He licked his lips quickly – an unfortunate nervous habit – and said, "Are we ready to keep shopping?"

There wasn't any immediate answer.

Sirius was staring right at him, and Harry could feel James' gaze drifting between them while he stubbornly sought to keep his own eyes on nothing particularly dangerous. They flitted over Remus whose pale face, with its characteristic scars standing out pink in the cold, was filled with pain for the briefest of seconds as he let his attention divert forlornly to the Shrieking Shack. And, frighteningly, Peter was looking over Harry's shoulder, staring curiously at the snowdrift behind which Severus Snape was still hiding.

James recovered first from the odd moment between the five of them and rapidly blinking the glaze out of his eyes clapped a hand down on Remus' shoulder, startling the young prefect. "Oy, Moony! Cheer up! We'll get a steaming butterbeer in your hands soon enough."

Remus gave a wane smile, and if Harry had not been one Hermione Granger in the future he would have entirely missed the serious undertone to the exchange happening between the two friends. And it meant much more than what it seemed.

"I am getting a tad cold," the prefect admitted sheepishly and Harry smiled. "Warming Charms just aren't as good as an old-fashioned fire, you know?"

"And Harietta here's about to turn into a human popsicle – dirty snow flavoured."

Harry didn't meet Sirius' eyes but he chuckled along with the roaring laughter of the Marauders and nodded his agreement that a butterbeer would in fact do him wonders in his current state. "We've got about three hours left," he informed them, checking the inside of his wrist in an attempt to look busy.

"It's decided then," _the_ James Potter declared with a clap of his hands. "We'll pick up a case of butterbeers from the Broomsticks then break off to do our most secret inner-Marauder shopping."

Harry winced. He knew James didn't mean it, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling to be constantly reminded that you weren't part of "the group", that you didn't belong. But no matter the sting it gave his esteem, Harry knew it was probably for the best that he didn't get himself too far into the Marauders. He needed to gain just enough trust and leverage to save the original Harry – too far and he'd risk exposure and an ugly failure. He let the comment roll right over him.

"And I'll get started on that "world peace" situation," he said evenly and started down the path back into the center of the village. He didn't see Sirius punch James soundly on the arm.

"Ow! Padfoot, you friggi—"

"Cut the 'Marauder' crap already, James," Sirius growled into his face. "I'm sure he's having a _smashing_ time as it is in a new school without you rubbing our friendship in his face like that!"

James could only gape in shock as his best friend stomped moodily down the hill without so much as a glance back to accompany his little snit. James thought the incident warranted a good brood. But then he noticed Peter was still with him, staring down the trail that led to the Shack, and subconsciously straightened his posture.

"_Geez!_" He said a bit loudly to catch Peter's attention. "Is Padfoot having his monthlies, or what?"

Peter's only response was an unintelligible grunt, his bleached blue eyes scanning the hillside fixatedly, and James visibly deflated. Grumbling to himself about 'the whole lot of them gone nutters', James shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and started down after the others, bellowing that if Remus so much as put a tooth near _his_ butterbeer, James would have his head.

Peter was pulled back from his world of concentration by Harry's placid voice questioningly calling for him, and he squeaked in surprise to realize he'd allowed himself to be left behind. Gripping the edges of his cloak to keep it from billowing as he ran down the hill into the village, Peter couldn't help but still try and digest what he thought he'd seen: two sets of footprints led behind the man-high snow bank, but only one had walked back out.

* * *

Stepping into the Three Broomsticks was always a pleasant treat in the winter time. The ovens were always going and with a constant stream of boiling butterbeers being dished out, the first step in through the door came with a wave of steamy heat that made your skin prickle and tingle all the way down to your toes. The sudden change in temperatures made Harry's nose tingle and he heard the lycan sneeze behind him.

The group shuffled through the huddling students taking respite from the cold and up to the bar where a bustling gray-haired witch was sliding a long line of frosted mugs under a spout of positively burning hot butterbeer. The bar cleared automatically for the famed Marauders and guest, and the five of them climbed up onto their bar stools.

"_This_," James exclaimed dramatically; mostly for Harry's benefit. "Is the lovely Madame Rosemerta the III."

"HELLO BOYS!" The elderly witch exclaimed. The heat had brought wisps of gray hair down about her rosy cheeks and she had a general air of good cheer about her. "Remus, dearie, would you help me please?"

Harry was rather shocked with the stoic prefect as he stepped up onto his chair and with one lithe movement hoisted himself over the bar. Like a longtime employee, Remus immediately found the list of orders and began moving expertly around the bar as if he owned the place. "Where's Rosie?" He asked, setting a case of butterbeer on the heater for his friends.

"Oh, I sent her off for the tables – we're just so busy tonight, don'tcha know! What with Christmas and all that," Rosemerta chattered amiably. "Circe's frilly knickers! I haven't seen you lot for ages, old Dumbledore figured out your secret passage, has he? Boy! It's a testament to my Nana that all you youngsters know the only proper cure for this weather is a Broomstick butterbeer."

Harry smiled softly as the woman rambled on with unwavering enthusiasm that made all the Marauders grin ridiculously large grins. Peter nudged him slightly in the side and said in a stage-whisper that made Sirius and James snicker, "Remus fancies Madame Rosemerta."

Remus gave Harry a pointed look and with a roll of his eyes said, "They're family friends."

"Oi, hmm..." James winked at Harry. "_Something_ like that..."

Remus glared at him, but Sirius had already cottoned on.

"Hey, Madame R – is little Rosie still going out with that French bloke?"

Remus was making desperate cutting motions across his neck, but Sirius and James blazed on ahead with Marauder perseverance and total disregard for embarrassments incurred. Harry shrugged at Remus apologetically, but really there was nothing to be done when the Wonder Twins got it in their mind to cause some havoc.

"What was his name—" James tapped his chin, apparently deep in thought "—Pierre something?"

Sirius' guess sounded something like "Peeyew" in a faux-french accent.

Rosemerta beamed roundly and Harry caught the wink she sent James and Sirius over a beet-red Remus' head. "Oh no, dearies. They had a bit of a falling out, you see. What an awful boy he was."

"You loved Jean-Marc," Peter piped up, knowingly, and Rosemerta bristled.

"Oh? Was that his name? I'd plum forgotten the boy already," she said, haughtily drawing up her plump mid-section. "Always twittering about with that blooming accent of his; happy he's gone, I am. Hope he got himself deported some way or another."

James snickered, and behind him Sirius was idiotically testing the heat of the warming butterbeers by licking his fingers and quickly poking the burning hot glass. "Oh, come on, Rosemerta! You were picking out bassinets the minute you met him."

Now it was Rosemerta's turn to flush and Remus' to bristle as Sirius gave a French "uh huh huh" and proceeded to make an arse of himself in the same fashion. "Ze lovely Rozemertza, she lovez ze French. _L'amour_!"

"And Remus _lovez_ Rosie," James snickered.

Remus vaulted right over the bar and took the Head Boy down in a proper flying tackle that upset a dish of candies and three chairs – one of which still had someone sitting in it. Harry was instantly up and scrambling to a seat on top of the bar and well out of the way of swinging arms. Sirius was laughing madly at the tussling pair and had already purloined one of their heating butterbeers and was tossing it back and forth in his hands to cool. Peter and a fifth year Ravenclaw were standing on the bar stools commentating on the fight, _sonorous_ making their voices ten times louder.

James' girly screams were quite unmanly and very loud as Remus put him in a fierce headlock, the both of them tangled up under an occupied table, but he was valiantly holding off the lycan's aggravated attack as best as one could, though only five people in the room knew it. Harry wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten so boy-ified, but there was something decidedly humorous about watching the great James Potter be nearly strangled by a peeved werewolf in the middle of the Broomsticks. He grabbed himself a Butterbeer.

Sirius hopped up next to him, and Harry was mildly surprised to find him reaching for another Butterbeer. Apparently, he'd already downed his first one. There went the spare bottle of the six pack. Madame Rosemerta caught his eye with a wink and reached under the counter to put another case on the heater without so much as a word to the brawling boys; it was all in good fun after all, and she seemed the kind of woman to enjoy a good bit of mischief every once in a while.

"Hey, Harry?"

Harry gulped down the rest of his bottle and reached almost desperately for another one so he wouldn't have to start this conversation with Sirius. The ravenet grabbed it first however, and Harry looked up at him with shielded eyes, watching as Sirius popped off the cap on the edge of the bar and handed the smoldering bottle back to him. Harry took it warily, but once he had the drink back in his hands he drank down half of it quickly looking away. His taste buds burned in protest, but he ignored the ill-affects of his sudden binge of boiling drinks.

"Hey," Sirius grumbled in protest. "If anyone's not gonna be sober for this, it's gonna be me!"

Harry's lips twitched downwards in a frown and he soon polished off his second butterbeer in defiance. "Yes?" He reached for another Butterbeer and so did Sirius.

"Gosh," Sirius uttered sarcastically. "Are you always this fun to have conversations with?"

Harry made sure to swallow before answering. "Look, it was entirely _your_ fault—"

"Are you—" he paused to take another burning gulp "—kidding me! You're such a woman!"

Harry caught the Ravenclaw commentator staring at them curiously, leaving Peter to announce on his own, and fixed him with an intimidatingly calm look that sent the boy quickly scurrying back to his earlier job. Finishing off his third bottle with some difficulty – it seemed almost a compulsion now to keep drinking the frothy beverage – Harry politely wiped at the corners of his mouth and turned his gaze out to James trying to pin Remus by sitting on his back, but he was having a hard time of holding onto the other boy's long, flailing legs.

"Let's just forget about it," he muttered.

"No."

Harry's mouth opened into an 'o' of surprise and Sirius stared back with a grin pulling at his lips.

"GRAMS! I need more cinnamon rolls!"

Harry unconsciously licked his lips, the desire for the spice still prevalent, and Sirius gave him a curious look. A young woman was jogging up to the bar, an empty tray in hand. She was wearing a light blouse with the sleeves rolled up under a smart, green velvet jumper. Perfectly golden ringlets bounced without any heed to gravity across her shoulders and back, half the coifed curls pulled back into a simple knot, through which was stuck the young witch's wand.

"Rosie, my love!" Sirius called out, breaking eye contact with Harry and swiveling on the bar. "Nasty breakups going on? I could kill him if you'd like..."

The robust blonde smiled broadly up at the younger boy, her cheeks dimpling. "Hullo Sirius. Who's your friend?"

He looked back over his shoulder at Harry, whose lifted eyebrow was warning enough, and huffed a wayward strand of black out of his eyes. "This scrawny, mangy looking thing?" He smirked and turned back to Rosemerta the _Fifth_, who was loading her serving plate up with mugs and cinnamon buns. "New kid; name's Harietta Granger."

"It's _Harry_," the brunet corrected, leaning back slightly over the bar to see Rosie's smiling face. "Pleasure to meet you."

"It's too bad you got mixed up in this lot, Harry," Rosie commented, with a grin at Sirius' aghast face. "The only half-decent one is Lupin."

"So, I've heard," Harry said, imparting a small smile at the young woman who, while no older than nineteen now, would become the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks in _Hermione's_ time.

"'Half-decent', eh?" Sirius waggled his eyebrows. "I'll be sure to pass that on to our dear Remus."

Her face turned scarlet in a shade reminiscent of Remus' a few minutes earlier and she shoved at Sirius, nearly toppling him backwards off the counter. "Do and I'll hex your butterbeer for a month!" She stomped off muttering something about "bloody Blacks".

Rosemerta smiled charmingly at Sirius, picking up a rag to dry out the glass she'd washed clean. "Still getting on well with my granddaughter, I see..."

"Of course!" He began digging in his pockets for change, while Harry turned to Peter who had plopped down flush-faced next to him on the bar declaring the fight 'officially over'. Harry offered him one of the Butterbeers form the fresh case, seeing as how he and Sirius had finished off the first one between them, and the blond accepted it gratefully.

"—love to stay and chat, you know, but there's shopping to be done, women to woo. The usual," Sirius excused debonairly, slapping a few galleons down onto the bar. Rosemerta pinched his cheek.

"Have another case for the road, darling," she insisted, lifting up another six-pack beside the first. "Who knows how long until you come back round here, ya stranger."

"Aww, R to the third..." Harry was sure that Sirius was incapable of referring to adults properly. "Don't be like that," the ravenet cajoled. He leaned over the bar and kissed the kind witch on the cheek, making her blush like a silly school girl.

"Shame on you, Black," She tittered, palms pressed to her cheeks. "Go on, scat!"

Sirius slid off the bar, leaving Harry and Peter to take up the butterbeer cases. "We'll just collect the children and be on our way."

Peter rolled his eyes, murmuring that 'he does this every time' in Harry's ear, and the pair headed for the door; after all, they had the butterbeer they'd come for and what did they care if the others got left behind? Sirius, however, gallantly inserted himself between two thoroughly exhausted and amused Marauders.

Moments later, the duo, waiting on a bench out in the snow and nursing a bottle each, were joined by Sirius bursting out of the Broomsticks' door, the collars of James and Remus in each hand as he dragged them out into the snow.

Despite the cloak now being twisted around his neck and threatening his oxygen supply, James managed to choke out, "Let's shop!"

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around the cozy village, and it became a common occurrence for one of the group to meander off on their own and discreetly make unknown purchases, coming back with their newly acquired packages shrunken and safely stowed away in inner pockets.

Peter in particular seemed to have an affinity for finding out the most secret of pockets in his friends' robes and was quite good at riffling through them without their owners' notice. Finally, after about the fifteenth attempt, a deliriously laughing group of Marauders forced the shortest member to walk "ten paces ahead of the group at all times".

Peter acquiesced to their demands, but deviously stole a case of butterbeer away with him. _Bastard_.

Harry, however, had taken Peter's, er, _talent_ to heart and knowing that the Marauders curiosity would not remain sated with their Yule presents just lying about for a week, he came out of every store empty-handed and empty-pocketed, much to the other's disappointment.

The sun fell quickly in the winter sky and the gray overcast sky was streaked with a purple glow as the sun hovered just at the horizon, holding out as long as it could until night so the students could find their way back home. The sprinkles of snow had tapered off, but the thin cloud cover was still blocking out the twinkling stars that should have been appearing in the absence of light.

A steady stream of black-robed bodies was making its way up to the glimmering castle, and in the middle of the flow was a group of staggering seventh years. Remus was in the middle supporting Sirius, who was sloshed silly and making weird faces at passing snow banks. James, who was apparently a romantic-drunk, was attempting to serenade the lot of them with songs of a rock band called 'Stupefy This' turned into love ballads. Harry had thankfully stopped at three bottles, and was doubly thankful he turned out to be a pensive-drunk, making the only difference between this and his normal behavior was that he tended to have a problem walking without swerving. Peter, when drunk, became a babbler and was chattering nonsense to the incapableofbeing-drunk Remus.

Someone really should have stopped James when he swaggered into a gaggle of seventh year Ravenclaw girls and "commandeered" their butterbeer case. Their previously-dwindling supply was now refreshed and each of them was handed a new bottle as James declared:

"The game is called 'I Never'."

The Marauders eagerly busted off their caps on belt buckles and rocks and green glass bottles were held at the ready, hoping the first question would garnish them a drink. Harry, with one glance to their impatient faces, resigned himself to playing as well and level-headedly charmed his bottlecap off with his wand.

He really wished he hadn't, when James placed an Undeceivable Charm on their bottles. They couldn't forgo drinking, they couldn't drink falsely, and they were stuck playing until they ran out of butterbeer. Harry shuddered to think what terrible hexes would be inflicted if a player broached any of the rules.

"Something easy, Prongsie. I'm a bit paaaaaarched," Sirius bellowed. Harry didn't know 'parched' could be such a long word.

"Alright, my _loves_," James said, sounding lecherous in his drunkenness. "_I never_ played 'I Never'."

All five of them drank – _some_ bigger sips than others.

"Moony's turn," James delegated with a bit of a hiss as the alcohol burned its way down his already raw throat.

"_I_" – pause for pointed look – "Never swam stalkers in the school lake."

Both James and Sirius were grinning madly as they drank in unified confession and exchanged high-fives.

"Using our own secrets against us, Moonz?"

Remus grinned evilly; a look characteristic of him when in the company of the other Marauders. Then Peter interjected. "Well _I_," he said dramatically. "Never _had_ any deep dark secrets."

Remus was the first one to drink after a lengthy pause between them. And then, under fear of hexes and the influence of three plus butterbeers, Harry took a gulp as well and was met with James' impressed whistle. After a long (all be it a bit doofy) look straight at Harry, Sirius was the last to drink.

"_I never_ had sex," James lamented mournfully, breaking the silence – more a tragic confession than a question in the game.

The whole group went into an uproar when _Peter_ was the only player to drink. Harry was offering amazed congratulations, but the Marauders were in dismay.

"Under our very noses-es!"

"Wormtail's been sneaking about doing the nasty—"

"—And without telling us!"

"_That's right!_ Why didn't you tell us, mate!"

Peter sheepishly buried his chin into the wooly folds of his house scarf. "I didn't want you guys to feel bad."

Harry snorted into his shoulder.

"Marauders share _everything_!" Remus rebuked and made to shove the blond out of the group.

"You tipsy, treacherous, terrible, tigerliscious _traitor_!" Sirius slurred, having taken a turn for the worse in the alliteration department.

"It was the end of last term," Peter disclosed guiltlessly. "A Hufflepuff in our year. _Fucking_ awful. It felt like shagging a sandwich. She was squishy. _I_ was squishy. _It was squishy_. Squishy squish squish."

He took another swig of butterbeer to wet his babble-dried throat. "And it was _guh-ross_. Glad it was in the Room O' R – because _I_ wasn't about to clean it up! I mean, if all sex is sandwich-sex, I'm abstaining..."

"Maybe you should abstain from drinking so much," Sirius chortled. He smacked the shorter boy so hard on the back he almost upset his butterbeer.

"Oh, it was just _awful_," Peter repeated needlessly, and the scarlet blush that had risen up in every pore of Harry's face finally began to recede. "You know her too, it was A—"

Harry clapped a hand over the shorter boy's mouth in defense of the poor Hufflepuff girl's virtue, and the other Marauders dissolved into unmanly giggles as Peter, who seemed to have forgotten he could breathe through his nose, went all wide-eyed and purple-faced. And since Harry was too inebriated to realize immediately their predicament, the pair went staggering wherever Peter's flailing took them, Harry's hand cemented over his mouth.

The ever unflappable Remus was calmly trying to explain to Peter in no short terms that he was being an "idiotic git", but he didn't seem to be making any headway and the blond was nearly hyperventilating in Harry's grip. Finally, the two were pulled apart and as Peter sucked in great dramatic gasps in order to start into a huge rant on how he'd just had a "near death experience" and "was anyone watching!", Harry found himself in the middle of James and Sirius; the latter of the pair quite literally hanging off his arm from his over enthusiasm in pulling the two boys apart.

"_I'd have to 'Imperio' you for just one kiss – my friends say you're a witch, but they can just STUPEFY THIS!_" James crooned into Harry's ear, and the brunet winced at the foul honeyed breath blasted across his face. Rock songs became utterly ridiculous when attempted at a saccharinely slow tempo. It was hardly romantic.

"Oh, put a bung in it, Prongs," Remus groaned, vocalizing Harry's precise thoughts.

"And what if he doesn't?" Peter chattered. "What then? Huh? Huh? HUH?"

"They won't find a body."

Sirius snickered. Harry was finding it difficult to drag the long-haired boy alongside him and envied Remus his lycan strength. "That's _illeeeeeeeeegal_," he tittered and looked around for his butterbeer, which was still conveniently in his hand.

"I've never done anything really illegal, so there has to be a first time for everything, eh?" The prefect threatened sinisterly. Sirius cackled again.

Lifting his green bottle in a swaying salute, he chugged another swallow and much to Remus' protest was joined by James and Peter.

"That _wasn't_ a question!" Remus exclaimed hotly, his cries fell on deaf ears however, and despite his adamant denial, the spell they'd worked over the bottles had taken his words as a another question of the game and Harry's own butterbeer began to quake and tremble in his hand, demanding to be drank.

Grimacing and cursing James' aptitude at Charms, Harry gave in to the inevitable and took a pull on his drink.

The Marauders stared.

"When I said it I meant I never did something _Azkaban-worthy_..." Remus corrected.

Harry bit the corner of his mouth and took another sip. Peter, James, and Sirius looked at him slack-jawed in drunken unison, barely being able to take drinks themselves.

Remus, the non-drunk, was giving him a calculating look of appraisal in which Harry felt like a bug under some microscope. Peter was babbling about how 'amazed' he was, while James seemed to be giving him a look akin to something like respect. Sirius was curiously probing for details.

"That's not part of the game," Harry managed quietly, and looked down at his hands locked around his bottle.

"Ooo! A rebel!" Sirius slurred.

James smirked sappily across Harry's shoulders at his best mate and, love songs long forgotten, jibbed, "You're one to talk, pumpkin juice. _I never_ ran away from home."

Sirius eagerly drank with a "best thing I've ever done" following it.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry stared down at the bottle that was already starting to heat demandingly in his hands and the sounds of the Marauders' laughter seemed to melt away. It took all he had to stop Hermione from resurfacing – already falling into the habit of referring to his original person as though she was another personality entirely that just so happened to be sharing his body.

Hermione wanted to cry, she wanted to run all the way back up to the castle and hide away in the dark, familiar confines of the library. The original-Harry's face came up unbidden accompanied by Ron's gangly, smiling face. A long dead Ginny was there too, her impish light sparkling in teal eyes. James' voice echoed around in Harry's mind, reminding him that he'd never be a part of them. More voices joined in, all of them scornfully telling the poor Hermione that she'd never belong here.

Harry truly was alone, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to just go home.

The one she'd ran from.

His stomach rolled with her homesickeness, and Harry lifted the bottle – now beginning to boil in protest – and drank in confession. The Marauders received their second great shock in the last five minutes with about as much grace as the first, but Harry closed his eyes to their faces and continued to swallow great mouthfuls of butterbeer until the bottle was totally empty and the spell on it fizzled out.

Hand falling to his side, Harry slowly opened his eyes as the bottle slipped out of loose fingers and shattered on the icy walkway. "I'm going back up to the castle," he said emotionlessly. Shoving his hands to his pockets, Harry picked up his pace and trudged quickly up ahead of the dumb-struck group without ever once meeting their eyes.

And for a moment he considered using the time turner and just going home.

"You guys..." Remus said quietly as they watched the boy disappear into the mass of black-robes. James had already performed a Sobering Charm on them all. "I think we really hit a nerve with Harry."

"I wonder what he was running from," James murmured, thoughtfully.

"Hey, I ran away too," Sirius reminded them. "S'not that bad."

"Yeah, well not everyone has the Potters to run to," Peter pointed out and the ravenet's face instantly fell.

"You're right," he said woefully. "Do you think that's why he's here?"

James was staring uncommonly hard at a group of third year boys up ahead on the path, as though he could see Harry's rapidly retreating form straight through them. He was also uncommonly serious. "I don't know," he said finally, and the others were listening to his every word. "But I'm not going to be the one to ask him about it."

* * *

Armed with an extra large cup of tea and an indulging plate of cinnamon biscuits, Harry weathered the headache accompanying his Sobering Charm in the unused classroom that housed his and Severus' potion ingredients. The common room had been too full of happy, laughing faces, and he had a feeling that Sirius would be looking for him soon and the library was an all too obvious place for him to look.

So he'd gathered up all the texts and supplies he needed to do his homework and just as quickly stolen away to the room he knew would provide him the seclusion he needed. Harry even let enough of Hermione through to get himself entirely absorbed in his work and all thoughts of kisses and snow and drinking games slipped right out of his mind in favor of Hobgoblin wars and Conjuring Charms.

* * *

Sirius was going insane. Simple.

The common room felt oppressively small and compressed, and each time his pacing took him from one side of the space to the other, the distance seemed to be growing shorter and shorter as though the magical walls had chosen to slowly constrict. He'd tried everything to distract himself, but each attempt had ending with him throwing something at unsuspecting first years and resuming his aggravated pacing.

He tried plotting pranks with James: Boring.

Exploding Snap against Peter: Too easy.

Thinking of Christmas: Depressing.

He'd even tried settling down long enough to do his woefully forgotten homework: something very heavy and _pointy _thrown at the group of first years playing gobstones behind him.

So now he was treading a very finite path in the shagged carpeting of the common room, and not person, nor object in his way could divert him off his well-worn path. The common knew well enough by now that Sirius Black was not to be disturbed when in one of his moods, and the new first years had quickly cottoned on that they'd be the least fortunate victims of his aggravation.

Remus was being his usual brooding self and staring into the fire, James was looking entirely nonplussed with his best friend's behavior and was flipping through a Quidditch magazine, and Peter was making quite good progress on his Transfiguration essay with the help of the book Harry had given him, spread open in front of him.

_Harry_.

Well, that was the problem now wasn't it?

See...Sirius couldn't get the brunet out of his head.

* * *

It was getting near curfew and the two lone candles Harry had lit with which to do his work by were smoldering down into pathetic stumps. At any rate it was now too dark to work and with a sigh he resigned himself to packing up his things and confronting whatever was dealt him in the common room.

So much had happened that day, none of it easy to sort out.

Lily had let loose on the lot of them, and though he had the advantage of knowing what a truly kind-hearted person she was and wasn't too hard pressed to let her hurtful comments roll right over him, Harry doubted whether James would ever recover his adamant pursuit of the red-head.

If that was true, then Hermione had completed her intended mission and she need only stay a little while longer to ensure that that was the case.

So why did _Harry_ feel so miserable at the thought?

And James had been so good about it too, despite how inadequate his defense of him had been. Hermione's mission was clear in his mind, but he couldn't help himself from trying to ease the tension between the future Potters and had gone as far as to throw his lot in behind James when he should have wanted nothing more than for them to continue to bicker and argue. Hermione wanted a wedge driven between them, but Harry found himself caring too deeply for the Marauders' leader to want him to be needlessly hurt.

The bespectacled boy was certainly an intriguing creature; almost an hour after he'd met him, Harry had known he was completely different from his future son. He was brave and courageous, it was true, but there was this strange sense about him as well that Hermione had never witnessed around the original-Harry. In every situation he was thinking about how best to protect his friends, how to extricate himself and them with the least amount of scrapes, and a dozen other factors all at once. He was a genius at Charms yet, peculiarly, he wanted nothing to do with them after school, he had an ego about the size of Hungarian Horntail but it never seemed to bother Harry, and the odd way he seemed to look at him, confused Harry, while at the same time exciting Hermione's ingrained curiosity.

Then there's been what he was now referring to as 'the mouth smushing'. He marveled at how he'd even been able to look Sirius in the eye afterwards, and was even more surprised at how Hermione had reacted. Sure she was a girl, and Sirius was most undoubtedly a boy, but Harry hadn't been expecting the warm trickling down his spine afterwards or the sudden, intense desire to taste cinnamon again, even if he couldn't get it from the other boy's lips.

Hermione certainly was an odd creature. She was extremely intelligent, and it had been her who'd cemented in Harry the importance of the rules for Time-Traveling, and yet...

Even while he'd been utterly ensconced in his homework, for the past few hours Hermione had been stirring restlessly inside of him. She wanted something it was impossible for Harry to acquire for her.

The quill he'd been packing away slipped from his pensive fingers and fluttered to the floor. Harry immediately stooped to pick it up, but as he did so the efficiently-wrapped surgical bandages dug painfully into the flesh of his abdomen. And he hovered there, halfway in a crouch, with the discomfort of his disguise forcing him to remember just how different he and she _weren't_.

It was so hard putting all of your effort and energy and identity into becoming someone so entirely different, but even harder to keep yourself from forgetting who you once were. A deep breath. And then another.

Hermione's breath shuddered out between parted lips and she closed her eyes. She didn't know when she'd started to think of herself as Harry, but it was frightening to realize that for a time she'd actually thought she _was_ him; that she _was_ a boy, and that this annoying, effeminate voice in the back of his head was just some spectator watching the fun from behind his eyes.

Reflecting back on the mental stream of consciousness she'd just been having, she shivered to think that it was something that would have landed someone in St. Mungo's if it was discovered by some outside witness. It was like schizophrenia and dissociative identity all rolled into one. Which made her one fucked-up sickling.

She hadn't realized she'd started sweating, but her whole shirt was damp and her frizzy, lopsided curls were matted to her forehead. _Harry's_ forehead. Harry's shirt. Hermione gripped the table forcibly and gritted her teeth. She couldn't lose her sense of self, but she also couldn't be anything but Harry when in the presence of the others. The Marauders were shrewd, the Slytherins suspicious.

Licking her lips, Hermione straightened slowly and the bandages resettled to their familiar constrictiveness that she hardly noticed anymore. Gradually, she finished packing away her things. _His things_, she had to correct herself. She didn't like what she was having to do, but she also knew there was no other choice.

One thing was for certain: she couldn't stay here much longer.

"_Granger?_"

* * *

"James."

A grunt of response.

"_James_."

The Head Boy finally tore his gaze away from the article on Ireland's new training regimen, and the surprised 'o' his mouth made at seeing Sirius hovering next to him so intently, was invite enough for the other ravenet to start up his pacing in front of the couch. James had to snatch back his legs off the coffee table to keep them from being snapped in half.

"What the hell's the matter with you, Pads?" Exclaimed the disgruntled James, whose quidditch magazine was roughly snatched away by Sirius, who didn't think he was paying adequate attention. "You don't usually pace this long. You don't like to do so much physical exertion because it makes you sweat—"

"Can I talk to you about a very serious, potentially life-threatening matter?" Sirius interrupted gravely.

James' eyes went wide, and he lowered his voice to a conspiring whisper. "Did Harry try and put the voodoo on you too?"

"_How did you know!_" Sirius hissed, aghast.

"Oh, honestly," Remus tsked in disgust. The book he'd been reading was snapped shut and he unfolded his lanky frame from the chair. Peter, who'd caught their murmurs too, was frowning as he got up to follow Remus. "You two are always looking for some conspiracy theory."

James and Sirius both scowled.

And then, quite bravely showing his Gryffindor qualities, Peter said, "Just because you guys can't understand what a nice person is, doesn't give you the right to make up such mean stories about Harry. He wouldn't do it to you."

Remus nodded approvingly at Peter and the two left the near-empty common room for the solitude of the dormitories. Apparently, however, Peter's words had less than an impact than Remus had thought.

Sirius turned to his brother-in-paranoia and gestured towards the portrait with his thumb. "Come on and let's go find him. I have to see if he's doing the same thing to you."

* * *

"Thank you," Harry murmured taking an unhesitating sip from the glass of cold water in his hands.

"You look sick," his companion said callously. "The Dysfunctional Foursome haven't sunk to hexing their own, have they?"

It didn't seem half as odd as it should have been to be sitting up against the hallway wall with Lucius Malfoy sitting right down in the dust next to him, having conjured Harry a cup of ice water after one look at his flushed and sweaty face.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted dully. The part he really couldn't get over was that a high-and-mighty pureblood Malfoy was sitting on a cold, dirty floor. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Severus wanted me to check and make sure your Gryffindor ineptitude hadn't gotten the temperamental ingredient completely ruined while on your watch," the blond said indifferently, examining his nails.

Harry glanced back through the doorway at the small potions refrigerator nestled harmlessly in the corner. "Doesn't trust me, eh?" he chuckled humorlessly and sipped at the water again. It was pleasantly cool and tingly down his throat.

"You're rather trusting, aren't you?" Lucius sneered. "I could have poisoned that water."

Harry finished swallowing his mouthful of water with little care and brought the glass up to his eye line to be surveyed with an odd sort of half-smile. He looked sidelong at the Slytherin prefect. "Did you?"

Lucius' lip curled. "Maybe."

Harry smiled full on now and the glass rim was back against his bottom lip. "Then _maybe_ I trust you." He took another long sip and looked away.

"Insolent Gryffindor."

"Dramatic Slytherin."

Harry chuckled as Lucius' arched eyebrows shot up. "_Goodnight_, Lucius," he said pointedly. His gaze was still on some spot across the hall.

"I'm not going to walk by tomorrow morning and find you in a coma on the floor, am I?" he said sardonically, stretching his arms over his head. "Because I would rather not get questioned because of your stupidity."

"If I do, I'll leave a note clearing you of all charges," Harry quipped in his even voice.

Lucius muttered something sharply to himself and stood up. "Now I'm beginning to wonder if Severus isn't the daft one for agreeing to partner you."

"Yes, I _will_ have a pleasant evening," Harry replied as thought the blond had said something entirely different. "Thank You."

* * *

As soon as Malfoy turned the corner, Sirius could no longer restrain James and the hot-headed, Head Boy stormed wand-drawn out of their hiding spot and down the corridor towards a shocked looking Harry. He stopped just inches short of the still-sitting boy, with Sirius right on his tail, and for a moment was only able to pant angrily down at the calm-faced Harry.

"W-what!" James blustered, lost for words and only capable of wild hand gestures for few moments. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?"

Harry frowned, the rare change in his expression a truly dangerous sign of his darkening disposition. He knew he shouldn't, but he baited the green-eyed boy anyway. "Which part?"

"W-WHICH PART?" James strangled out in outraged repetition. "Gryffindors and Slytherins DO NOT mix! And this is the second time I've seen you together!"

Harry bristled, but at least it was keeping his eyes from drifting to a so-far silent Sirius. "So?" he said icily. "We were just having a conversation, and he kindly gave me a glass of water—"

"Give me that!" Sirius shoved his partner aside and snatched the near-empty glass from Harry's hands. He looked at the state of its contents with something akin to horror. "Harry! You _never_ take things from those snakes!"

Harry reached for it, but Sirius held it just out of his grasp, prodding it frantically with his wand. "Probably drugged," he exclaimed.

"Well, seeing as how I've already drank half of it, I think it's highly unlikely. Now, if you please!" Having gotten to his feet, Harry managed with both hands to wrench the glass free from Sirius' stubborn grip, and to punctuate his words, the brunet downed the last swish of liquid in one gulp.

"Are you _trying_ to get sent to the Hospital Wing?" James choked in shock.

Shaking with frustration, Harry scooped up his bag from where he'd been sitting, turning his back on the two spluttering Gryffindors. Pulling shut the door to his private storeroom, he hiked up his bag and started in the direction his intruders had come, heading for the common room.

"Oh, no you don't!" Sirius growled, jogging after him and grabbing a firm hold on his wrist. "James is right. You can't keep having these run-ins with Slytherins – it's not safe."

Harry turned a frown on him, and he really should have been prepared for his anger. All _Hermione_ wanted to do right now was go to bed.

"Unlike you, I don't go out of my way to make enemies based on childish prejudices. The Slytherins don't hate me _because I haven't given them any reason to_. I'm sorry if that bursts your perfect little bubble, but Slytherins and Gryffindors _do_ 'mix'; you've just seen it!"

James gaped at the fuming brunet, having never seen him get so worked up in the month or so since he'd been here. Two apple-colored spots had smeared his cheeks in his passion and his disorderly hair was hanging over sienna eyes verily crackling with electricity. His small hands were clenching and unclenching sporadically as though he was fighting very hard not to punch the both of them. If this emotional Harry was such a shock to him, then seeing the brunet become violent might just put him into cardiac arrest.

He tried to glance at Sirius to see if he was in as much shock as himself, but for the life of him, he couldn't remove his eyes from Harry.

"_He is pretty, er...**attractive**, you might say."_

James couldn't move.

"_Everyone seems to gravitate towards him whether he or they are aware of it at all."_

"James..." Sirius' voice seemed far away. "He's...doing it again."

The lead Marauder swallowed painfully and managed a nod. "I know."

The raging Harry before him suddenly deflated into the reserved, serene-faced boy he was familiar with and James could instantly breath properly again. He flooded his lungs with oxygen, not seeing the confused looks Harry was giving him.

"I'm sorry for yelling," Harry said quietly. And then, "A-Are you both alright?"

Sirius' hand fastened back around his wrist and he was suddenly being dragged down the hall, too startled by the suddenness of it to protest. James had grabbed Harry's satchel off the ground again, but Lucius' glass lay forgotten on the floor as the trio sped around the corner and a ways down the corridor before Sirius pulled Harry into an empty classroom and James barely managed to slip in before it was slammed shut.

Harry blinked rapidly to adjust to the dim lighting the room's sole window was providing in the gloom. His pulse was pounding in his throat. "What's going o—"

Harry's back connected hard with the wall, and before he could process the thought that there was a warm body hovering just over his, his surprised cry was cut off by a hot mouth pressed against his own.

This wasn't an awkward meeting of lips in the back shelves of some store – this was dead on, slick, and filling Harry's mouth with the passionately painful burn of cinnamon and honey. His lips parted at the first command and he sunk into a deeper haze as Sirius' tongue traced the lines of his mouth and the backs of his teeth. The hands that had gotten trapped between their chests in Harry's rush to protect himself from the jarring of the wall now fisted themselves in the scratchy cotton of Sirius' robes as the ravenet turned his head slightly for a better angle and Harry's head began to pound from the lack of oxygen and the bruising crush of lips that was grinding his head into the hard stone wall.

Then he was being released and oxygen never felt so much like a curse before. Even as he gasped in symphony with Sirius' low pants, an unfamiliar thought in the back of his mind asked if he wouldn't rather have died just then; drowning, suffocating in Sirius' kiss.

"_It's still there_," Sirius panted huskily, but Harry was finding it difficult to even raise his head to locate where he had gone.

"Padfoot! What the hell—"

"Just do it, James. _Please_."

"..."

"I have to know I'm not crazy...please..."

Cloth on cloth was followed by soft footsteps on the floor, and Harry had enough sense to try and stop what was happening in this abandoned room, sometime past midnight. His mind was a jumbled confusion, but it was Hermione's confliction that hampered his escape. If ever there was a rule to follow it was now, and the level-headed witch from the future clung to smooth walls and screamed at him to run for the door.

_But a piece of her wanted more_...

In this chaotic moment of indecision, Harry stumbled forward beside the wall and was caught by unsteady hands in the patch of moonlight. He turned his head slowly to face the owner of those hands and forced himself to remember that _here and now_ he was Harry, even as his breaths became shallow and breathy.

James' face was still in shadow, but Harry could pick out every detail of it – even the darkened hue of his jade eyes staring heatedly at him through glinting glass and frames. He didn't fall upon him in a rush like Sirius had, and for nearly a minute he just stared.

Harry couldn't speak – he'd lost that ability the second Sirius' smooth lips had touched his for the second time that day.

But he _did_ wonder how he must have looked in the moonlight to make James Potter stare so.

The hands that had caught him moved gradually to new positions, one settling along his side and the other atop his shoulder, almost awkwardly. Then, as though he were ripping off a bandaid, James' head darted down and pecked Harry on the lips. The brunet let out a shaky sigh, figuring that was it, but the Head Boy wasn't satisfied with such an unsatisfactory kiss. Harry couldn't really telling the shadows, but it looked as if James' was surprised at his own repetition.

The taller boy laid the ghost of a kiss over Harry's mouth, lips just barely brushing, and it burned. Harry's tongue darted out to lick his lips cool, but it caught on James' and the ravenet's hot gasp caressed his face before their mouths were locked together. It wasn't like kissing Sirius at all. Where his were long and melting, James' were short and fiery.

He'd stop so abruptly Harry's fogged head would reel, and then hover just beyond tasting as though he was fighting something, before his resolve would break and he'd swoop down to kiss him anywhere he could get; lips, chin, cheek, throat, jaw, ear. Harry's swollen mouth still bore the saccharine taste of the butterbeers James had drank, and the sharp tang of his mint shampoo buried Harry in a heavenly cloud as he sucked on his earlobe. Just when the brunet thought he'd pass out from the heady rush, James was literally peeled off of him and he sagged against the wall.

"What are you doing to us?" James demanded in a wheeze.

"Thank Merlin! You felt it too?" Sirius sounded relieved.

"What spell did you cast on us!" James demanded adamantly. He tried to cross back over to Harry, but Sirius was holding him back.

One would be hard-pressed to decide which of the three in this room was the most confused, but on this particular subject, Harry took the cake. "What are you talking about? I haven't done anything!" He exclaimed, defensively.

"I told Remus he was a dark wizard, but he didn't believe me—"

"I'm not!" Harry raised his voice. "You were the ones who kissed _me_! Not the other way around."

"Only because you worked some kind of spell on us!" James repeated, with an infuriating emphatic-ness.

"You're the 'kissers' in this situation," Harry frowned, growing more hostile by the second. "I'm the '_kissee_'. I'm the victim here, not you. I have no idea what the bloody hell you're going on about -- what reason would I have to put a spell on you?"

"Then why do I want to keep kissing you!"

Harry gaped. "Wh—Wha?"

Sirius advanced on him, looking every bit the tall-dark-and-handsome that he was, but James surprised them all by getting there first and ravaging Harry's mouth with his own. The brunet had crossed his arms just in time, and he hugged himself protectively as his body began to give in. But this time he was prepared. He wasn't caught off-guard like he had been when Sirius had first dragged him into the room.

This was wrong on so many unbelievable levels.

Not only was it unfair to the three of them, as he would undoubtedly be returning to Hermione's time in the next month, it was also highly illegal and in violation of just about every time traveling law ever set down. It was just impossible, is what it was. The original-Harry's father and godfather...and _Hermione_...

Unfathomable.

There were too many secrets she'd never be able to disclose – too many that she knew. She knew about Remus' lycanthropy, about their animagi, the cloak, the map, the tunnel under the Whomping Willow, their futures, their deaths. Every aspect of their lives was like a well-worn novel on her bookshelf, and yet she could give them nothing about herself in exchange for such intimate knowledge.

Hermione couldn't tell them that she was from the future, that she'd been deceiving them all into thinking she was a boy, that she was on a mission to irrevocably alter their lives, that she had possibly destroyed what would quite probably have been a happy marriage for James, and that every day she spouted one more lie to placate them.

"This can't be happening –" Harry shivered at the throaty whispers across his ear. "—I can't be a poof, I'm not..."

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him that that wasn't it at all, before reason resumed its hold on her and Harry closed his eyes against frustrated pinpricks. For all appearances, James really _was_ kissing another boy – a scrawny, unattractive one at that. And Harry couldn't say anything to the contrary.

But worst of all, if he allowed this farce to continue and James or Sirius discovered his true gender the psychological damages reaped would be inconceivable. He couldn't even fathom what a gross betrayal it would be seen as, and how much more pain he would have caused than prevented.

"No..." he moaned and hugged himself tighter.

"I'm not gay, I'm not gay," James repeated it over and over again like a mantra as he worked his way back up Harry's throat. Harry was sure Hermione might very well burst into tears if James didn't stop talking.

He could feel Sirius' presence like a tangible weight on his side, and the sudden, desperate urge to escape leapt so high into his throat Harry almost choked. It was like he wanted to crawl out of his very skin – anything just to get away. Sirius lowered his head for a kiss, but with a strangled half-sob Harry wrenched and turned his head away, his cheek meeting with Sirius' lips.

"Please..._please don't_," he whispered in a strained voice. Nothing had managed to stop the two Marauders from mysteriously gravitating towards him – not any arguments, or denying body language – but Harry's plea seemed to permeate the very air and Sirius took two great steps back. James fell at his feet.

Pulse pounding in his ears and his lips aching with bruises from being thoroughly snogged, Harry fled the classroom abandoning everything; his books, his bag, James and Sirius.

* * *


	8. Boyfriends

**Completed:** (8/4/05) 12:39 AM  
**Posted: **(8/4/05) 4:47 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ PAY ATTENTION! Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N: _Long in coming and I'm WAY sorry. Wow...I'm cranking these out as fast as I'm able, and it isn't that hard because I'm totally in love with these guys, ha! A little bit of angst for you all, some boy chasing, and a bit of fun. Yule/Christmas coming up next chapter? Maybe just Eve.

* * *

Remus and Peter had gone when Sirius' slow and heavy footsteps lead him into the boys' dormitory. Sickened by his actions and too shamed to go any further, the pensive boy stayed landlocked in the doorway as time slowly progressed. Harry's bag over his shoulder was weighing down as heavily on his back as he thoughts were on his conscious; his eyes wavered over the closed curtains of Harry's bed.

_Please...please don't..._

Gritting his teeth, Sirius lashed out and punched the doorframe in frustration.

"Did the wall put a spell on you too?" The words were softly spoken, but no less painful.

Sirius winced. "Look, Harry, I—"

The curtains shifted slightly. "If you keep standing in the doorway like that, the others are going to show up and start asking questions."

If Harry could be calm about this then so could he. Still, Sirius had to take several deep breaths before he could convince his 'boots to start their walking'. He made to go to his bed, then remembered the satchel over his shoulder and hesitated. He turned towards Harry's hidden form.

"Harry-"

"I'm sorry, but I...I'm trying to do my homework, so could you please..." Harry's voice was fainter this time and Sirius could hear the scratch of quill on parchment.

"Your homework?" It seemed the ravenet had a better chance of finishing his sentences when they didn't involve Harry's name. "But I've got your bag, and...er..."

He trailed off, a faint flush creeping up his neck. The scrit-scratching sound ceased. "I'm doing it from memory, and—"

Neither of them seem fated to hold a real conversation. "No way!" The taller boy exclaimed, forgetting their troubles for a moment. "Your memory's really good then."

"Uhm, I guess," was what he answered, though it was slightly muffled by layers of cloth. A pause, a slight tremor in the heavy curtains and then; "Actually, it's not, er, going so well...can I – that is to say, may I please have my bag back, please..."

"Oh, sure..." Sirius gave an awkward shrug of his shoulder to slide Harry's rucksack down into his hand, and then quickly swallowed up the short distance between their beds.

His hand was already on the bedhangings when Harry said, "Just leave it by—"

Sirius dropped the bag and it made a horrendous sound as it connected heavily with the wooden floor; something might have broken inside. His fingers were hardly the only thing gone numb, and he hardly noticed the bag's absence as he stood in the part of the curtains, his legs close enough to the bed to be grazing sheets. The object of his ardent gaze was a Harry curled up in a tangle of sheets; scrap parchments, inkwells and library books scattered around him. A quill was gripped tightly in his hand, but had been so long neglected that it had dripped dark splotches up his thigh and stained the tips of his middle fingers. His pajamas, consisting of a baggy t-shirt falling off one shoulder and a pair of sweatpants shorn off into shorts, were rumpled and with his chocolate curls looking more tousled than usual it seemed he'd already tried sleep and failed at it. But it was his eyes that drew the most attention, puffy, red and raw.

He sank down involuntarily onto the bed, the mattress depressing to accommodate his weight and Harry dumbly reached out to stop an inkwell from tipping. Sirius looked positively green burying his face in his hands and Harry shifted uncomfortably on the bed.

"Mm uchin ss," he mumbled through his fingers.

Harry fidgeted again. "What?"

Sirius removed his hands and turned dejectedly to face him. "_I'm_ _such an ass_," he repeated. "James too, 'course he's not half as charming an ass as I am, but still..._oh, Merlin_ – I should just stop talking. I made you cry."

Harry's skin crept to pink and he rubbed hastily at his eyes. "Don't be silly," he murmured. "A lot of dust gets trapped in here during winter and it — you can talk now..."

But Sirius didn't have the need. His face hidden by his curtain of hair, Harry had no idea what he was thinking as he methodically collected Harry's things and set them on the floor. He extricated the inkwell form the brunet's half aware grasp, recorked it, and placed it on the bed's sidetable with the others. The quill soon followed and Harry blushed pink as Sirius took his fingers and rubbed the ink softly away with the hem of his robe; slow, intrinsic circles until each slender digit was clean again. Then he proceeded to do the same to Harry's leg.

Harry's breath hitched. "Why—"

"Because I don't know what else to do."

Harry fell silent again as his whole being became focused on watching Sirius and neither of them were concerned about the ink across his pale thigh. Sirius' gaze was fixated on something hidden in the air, his fingers continuing their ministrations almost out of habit; now seeking out the tense muscles beneath the skin and skillfully rubbing out the knots. His hands were olive toned against the milk-white background and the colors around them stood out sharper than before.

Crimson curtains.

Black bangs.

Ivory sheets.

The bed creaked softly as Sirius shifted his weight; the pressure on Harry's leg pleasantly increased. The sound of a tongue wetting lips was excessively loud as was the brunet's gasp of shock when his bangs were brushed back in a feathery caress and the hand on his thigh slipped higher. Cotton bunched up against his hip and another's body heat was added to his own as Sirius leaned loomingly close.

Harry instantly slammed both hands down on Sirius', crushing the olive fingers onto his leg and effectively stopping their progress. Shocked and face flaming, Harry's breath was coming in shallow wisps. Sirius gave a half-groan, half-sigh and dropped his forehead onto Harry's bare shoulder.

"I'm being an ass again," he said miserably into the fabric of Harry's t-shirt. "_I'm so confused._"

Harry exhaled slowly – the tension leaving him at the sound of dejectedness in his roommate's confession. He even lessened the pressure on Sirius' caged hand so that there wasn't the constant risk of one of the lovely digits snapping. "Me too," he murmured back, more out of comfort than in truth. He knew a hell of a lot more that was going on than Sirius did, and if anything he was more panicked than confused.

"Listen, Sirius...I can't let you do something you'd regret later—" and he would when he found out about Hermione "—so we mustn't go any further."

"Regret?" Sirius growled the word into his shoulder. He looked up and Harry had to crane his head at an unusual angle to see his scowling face. "Was this about James? Were you crying because of James?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, then quickly added. "And I wasn't crying—"

"Right," Sirius muttered; sounding depressed. "The _dust_..."

Harry sighed and removed one hand to rub at his face – his eyes were still painfully raw. "What do you want me to tell you?" Sirius' plaintive expression beside his chin gave no answer. Harry sighed again. "We're too different, I don't fit in here, I'm leaving before the end of second term, and though you probably don't believe me, yes I _do_ have deep dark secrets that I can't tell you and that you will never find out."

"Well...that's no fair," he teased, but his voice was humorless. "You already know mine."

Harry gave him a startled look.

"You and James are the only ones who know," he murmured, shifting closer. Harry automatically pressed down harder on Sirius' hand, but he couldn't stop the lips that grazed just along the surface of his neck. "And _yes_, the Great Sirius Black being a total poof qualifies as 'deep' and 'dark'."

"James doesn't seem to share your desires," Harry managed to say, as though hearing Sirius Black flew on the other Quidditch team was an everyday occurrence.

"I _knew_ this was about him!"

"Sirius, no--!"

The black-haired boy took out the anger contorting his face on Harry's bed – punching the mattress hard enough to make the whole frame groan in protest. At least Harry's leg was now free.

"What he said...what he—" Sirius was practically incoherent in his anger, and sometimes he looked as if he couldn't even fathom how to say something. "You don't ever—he just...what he said—"

"Sirius, please!" Harry said calmly, but loudly. "Don't yell..."

He seethed a moment longer, darting eyes from Harry to the bedspread, before he finally relented to his companions unwavering expression and settled back down on the bed's edge. He didn't resume his position against Harry. Instead, he propped his elbows up on his knees and folded his hands in front of his face; hunched over like that he looked as though he was barely able to keep his anger in check, even by physical means.

"James is my best friend," Sirius said quietly. "But he can be so _stupid_ sometimes that I just..." He trailed off and Harry was left not knowing what 'he just'. "He doesn't mean those things he says, really. It's difficult for him to...to..."

While Sirius struggled to find the words, Harry already had his and he let them slip unintentionally in the conversation's lull.

"It shouldn't matter what parts I have, or what my name is...after all, it didn't seem to matter when he was kissing me."

"He had no right to say those things to you," Sirius ran a hand through his hair and looked away from him. "But that doesn't mean a bloody galleon, yeah? Still hurts all the same – I'd know..."

Hermione reached out to touch Sirius' shoulder, but Harry dropped the cool hand back into his lap without ever making contact; with both of them sitting on his bed like this and Sirius' earlier-discovered penchant for kissing everything in sight, physical contact would be confined to a bare minimum. "Sirius?"

His fingernails suddenly holding a captivating interest, Sirius stared fixatedly at them as his voice fell quiet; husking as it did so at such a low decibel. "He told me the same thing..." he intoned lowly. "We were in the middle of shagging and he told me there was no way he liked men."

Harry was in shock. His namesake's father and godfather had...he couldn't even vocalize it in his head. It was simply too unbelievable.; perhaps he'd misheard. "You...a-and James?"

Repeating it only made it worse.

"We had a thing two years ago..." Sirius shrugged, folding his arms now behind his head. With nothing to look at, and still stubbornly avoiding eye contact with Harry –who'd so recently been his obsessive focus – the ravenet now turned his gaze to the canopied ceiling of Harry's bed. "Over the winter hols. It didn't last _obviously_."

"Why not?"

Sirius glanced at the other boy, but his plain face was entirely unreadable just as always. Not even his voice seemed particularly curious nor sympathetic or any other emotion he could imagine would be tagged on. He was just asking a question.

But Sirius didn't need any prompting to think back on that particular memory. Almost automatically, his hands balled into fists and dropped down to his sides and his face tightened. Harry had to have felt this way too – angry and hurt and upset – and for one of the few moments in their long friendship, Sirius wanted to hate James. _Wanted_ to.

"Because maybe Christmas is just _fucking_ depressing for some of us," he answered bitterly. "And maybe we both just needed a shag."

Harry said nothing after, and for a longer time past that. Sirius could only wonder what was going through his head now that he'd relented to the incessant urge tugging at his chest that demanded he look at the brunet; though, had he suddenly developed the power of legilimency, he'd probably go sparse trying to rationalize the whirlwind of thoughts whizzing through Harry's mind. As it was, Harry remarkably kept his shock in his head, and what he said when he finally spoke again was just:

"I don't think you mean that."

Sure. Confident. Unwavering.

Sirius wanted so badly to listen to him, but he was already shaking his head. "If you knew what our homes are like..." he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not making it any less sexy. "At least James' parents are decent people. Only problem is they're pretty much perfectly perfect in every way—" here, Sirius snorted. "They even have a bloody picket fence. He's terrified beyond belief what would happen if he was gay, as you can tell."

Harry nodded once. "And you?"

Sirius' smile was harsh and caustic. "My family keeps hoping I'll meet a tragic end. And _soon_. They've already disowned me for not following my family's nutters path, and've been blasted off the family tree. Mother's a bit dramatic." He attempted to laugh here, but it fell through and the mood was no more lighter than before. "She finds out I'm a poof and she might actually try and do me in herself..."

Harry knew all of this of course, courtesy of Hermione, and his eyebrows lifted accordingly. But his comment wasn't on Sirius' obviously dysfunctional family, as the ravenet had thought it would be, but on another subject entirely.

"You sound perfect for each other."

Sirius stared at him. "Me and Prongsie-boy?"

"Mmm," Harry murmured at the choice of nickname. "Well, you both obviously need the support the other can give, and who better than your best friend. It's clear that you two care deeply for one another, and if you are still friends after all this time, then who is your family to break up an intimate relationship; who is James' parents to discount all the years you've been such a good friend to their son."

In the back of his head, Hermione sent out a silent plea of apology to Lily; wherever she was. Then Harry said, "It's really the best option for you both."

Sirius quickly shook off his shock. "But James—"

"Didn't you say you got together over Christmas? There isn't a better time than now for a second chance," Harry said, brushing back his curly bangs with indifference. "James will realize that love is just love and a body just a body; only a shell for the person that's within."

"You're...underestimating how much of an ass James can be about these things," Sirius said, though is voice came out sounding a bit choked.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. Confidently. "He knows how much you love him, even if you don't."

"There's only one problem with that plan..."

"Hmm--?"

"_You_."

Harry's eyes snapped open and he just barely managed to lunge out of the way before Sirius' lips found his. He rolled across the mattress in a slip-and-slide of sheets and shot right off the edge of the bed. Sirius fell where Harry had once been sitting, and the bed's brunet owner was sprawled across the wooden floorboards in a heap of cotton sheets and a fluffy pillow toppling down onto his head.

"Christ, Harry – are you alright?"

Groaning, Harry tired to pick himself up off the floor and hissed sharply at the pain that shot up his hand. Falling back down onto his forearms, he gingerly prodded the pinkened skin around his wrist. He winced and pushed himself into a sitting position with his good hand.

Sirius' face was right in front of his.

Stretched out languidly on his hands and knees and robes gaping at his throat, Sirius looked down at Harry through a silken curtain of his hair, looking very much like he belonged in the centerfold of a Playwitch. The predatory look on the dark-haired boy's face froze Harry like a deer caught in a headlight -- he could sense danger in the snapping of a leaf from a hunter a hundred paces away, but shine a flashlight at him and he was effectively rooted to the spot.

"I'm fine," Harry insisted; quite ignoring the throbbing pain in his wrist. Sirius was shaping up to be too potentially dangerous to risk diverting his attention.

"I could kiss it," Sirius offered. "Make it all better? Though, since you're stubbornly refusing to tell me where you're hurt, I'll just have to start kissing body parts at random. Shame that."

Harry frowned slightly. "Please tell me that line never works..." Sirius' answer was a smirk. "I've just lost all respect for the female gender..."

The bed creaked as Sirius shifted his weight. "_You_ _know_, some people would give their left arm to have me heal their wounds with the power of my magical lips."

"Giving the left arm to save the right?" Harry's ridicule was obvious. He stood up and began patting the dust off his clothes before gathering up the sheets and piling them back on the bed. "Perhaps you should be more thorough in investigating the intelligence of your would-be followers."

"You're as smart as they come," was the quick response.

"Sirius..." Harry sighed through a mouthful of cotton sheets.

"Will you go out with me?"

Harry _choked_ on a mouthful of cotton sheets. Hands wrapped around his arms and he was pulled back against the pillows, Sirius' hands on either side of his face pinning him down between his forearms. Harry, of course, protested, but he was just as abruptly cut off as Sirius bent down and kissed him.

The kiss burned; like fresh hot cocoa on a winter's day. And though you knew it was far too hot, and your tongue and lips stung, it was so cold you'd welcome any fashion of heat, especially if it came in such a delightful flavor. And Sirius Black was a damn good cup of cocoa.

Even as he was pushing at Sirius' chest above him, Harry was surrendering to the expert twist of Sirius' mouth that had his own open in weakened compliance. His tongue was doing unbelievable things to the roof of his mouth – a traitorous moan from Harry and a wet **pop!** as Sirius pulled back; Harry's hands now fisted in his robes.

"Until I get an answer I like, I'm going to keep pestering you."

"No," Harry got out, despite the disorienting feeling of a cloud (or something equally squishy and pliant) having replaced his bed.

"Yes, I will. I can be quite persist—"

"No," Harry reiterated, swallowing slowly to get the words out despite distraction. "I will not qo out with you."

Sirius stared at him for a long, calculating time before he finally said. "I'll ask again tomorrow."

"Ask James," Harry told him forcefully.

Sirius chuckled and bent down to place a chaste kiss on Harry's forehead, despite the brunet's quiet, but firm "don't". Harry was back to pushing on his chest and had gotten as far as to squirm a leg up, his knee now digging, in what he assumed was a painful way, in the direction of Sirius' spleen. "This has to be fate," he said with a wry grin. "'Cause the only person I'd ever have considered sharing you with is James..."

"_Share!_" Harry must have turned seven shades of pink all the way down to his toes. He jabbed upwards with his knee and Sirius let out a greet **oof!** of air, his face filled with surprise. "I'm not some...some _sugar quill!_" Harry nearly shouted and with a great feat of strength shoved Sirius Black right off the bed. "I'm not going out with either of you, and we're never doing any of...of _this_...ever again! So just drop it!"

Halfway through picking himself up off the (hard) floor, Sirius looked up into Harry's pink and frowning face before the maroon bed hangings were violently yanked shut. He groaned miserably and muttering about being an ass he freed himself from the strap of Harry's bag that he'd gotten tangled in after landing on the bulky thing after his sudden discharge from the bed.

"_Harry_..." he pleaded, sincere in the apology now dripping from his voice. He reached out to pull back the curtains and gave a pained yelp as the fabric jolted him with a stinging shock.

He eyed the starched cotton warily; they looked harmless enough. He opted for a quick snatch-and-yank method the second time around and cursed loud enough to wake the girls' dorm when the fabric all but electrocuted his hand off. Wincing he shook his hand rapidly in front of him in an attempt to "shake away the pain" and then stuffed his fingers into his mouth. The curtains were indeed a formidable foe.

"Harry?" He tried again, though it came out sounding like "haee" around the fingers still in his mouth.

There was no answer. He'd effectively sealed himself inside the bed.

* * *

Remus hadn't thought he and Peter had been gone so long at the kitchens, but when they slipped back up into the dormitories they came upon a very odd sight indeed. On the far right of the dorm, Harry's bed was completely hidden within tightly drawn curtains and it was Peter who pointed out the faint orange glow of a Privacy Charm around them. At the top of the half-circle made by the five beds, Sirius' own was concealed all around, save for the end side, where a stone-faced Sirius was currently resting his arms over the footboard.

His eyes were fixed on Harry's bed, but slowly he turned his head to acknowledge their arrival, and even a longer moment after he blinked owlishly over his glazed eyes. Peter was tugging on his sleeve and Remus looked down at the slightly shorter boy.

_What the fuck?_ he mouthed.

Remus sighed at the needless use of expletives he had no doubt picked up from James and Sirius, but shrugged to pass on his own ignorance of the scene. A rustle of cloth was heard, and when the pair looked back it was to see the curtains of Sirius' bed swinging shut. There was enough angst in the room to choke him with a spoon.

Remus sighed again and rubbed at his temples, where a headache was neatly forming from the assault on his lycan senses. With an exasperated frown twisting his lips, he muttered "_what the fuck..."_ on his way to his bed, tucked unluckily between the two with sealed curtains.

When the Marauders woke up the next morning, Harry would already be long gone.

* * *

**CRASH!**

"Oh, _not again!_"

"Miss Tonks!"

"I'm so sorry, Professor McGonagall! I swear I was holding it tight, just like you said, but then—"

Harry smiled softly as a garishly red-haired Nymphadora Tonks hurriedly scrambled to pick up the broken pieces of a Christmas bauble at the feet of a stern McGonagall. By the looks of the pieces, it was one of the gold balls that the school had about a million of, but the little first-year was starting to cry as if it were the end of the world.

McGonagall had seen the tears too, because she gave a terse sigh and her hawk face softened slightly. "Oh calm down, child," she tutted, scooping her hands underneath the girl's arms and lifting her back up onto her feet. "There's no need to be so wishy washy. It isn't as though you've stolen the Headmaster's lemon drops."

Harry caught the rare joke and chuckled to himself, but Nymphadora was too busy apologizing to notice and missed it. She was starting to hiccup and it cut off her sniffling words mid-sentence. "I'm just so...so hic clumsy. A-And I...I'm hic n-never going to hic be...a..._good_ hic _witch_!"

McGonagall's frown deepened to the point where all the slight wrinkles across her aged face seemed to be frowning too. Still holding the girl stiffly under the arms but as far away as she could manage, the Transfiguration Mistress was clearly looking uncomfortable, and was at a loss as to how to handle the distraught first-year.

Harry finished securing the tinsel strand he was on with a wave of his wand and excused himself from his decorating partner, a Ravenclaw girl by the name of Kethy. Wiping his hands on the back of his khaki trousers, which had at one point belonged to Ron, the brunet weaved in and out of the other students and professors decorating the Great Hall and came up on the two awkwardly positioned females.

"Good morning, Professor," he greeted politely, inclining his head.

McGonagall gave a mumbled "Morning", warily keeping her eyes on the sniffling girl.

Biting the inside of his cheek in laughter, Harry turned to Nymphadora, whose hair had turned a melancholy shade of dark blue to match her mood. "Good morning, Nymphadora."

Gratefully releasing the Gryffindor, McGonagall deposited her in Harry's care and quickly fled the scene, leaving a teary-eyed girl staring up at the seventh year. Tugging up on his trousers so they wouldn't bunch, Harry crouched down in front of Nymphadora so that when he smiled at her, he was looking up to do so.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" he teased with soft eyes.

Nymphadora sniffed loudly, wrinkling her nose in the ridiculous over-exaggeration of children, and ran the back of her hand under her running nose. "W-Wotcher, Harry."

Harry's lips quirked. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now what's this about you not being a good witch," he asked firmly.

"It's _true_," she lamented in a wail. "Everything I do I mess up."

"Nonsense," was Harry's retort. "You got yourself dressed alright, didn't you? Your head's still screwed on straight. And did you know you've got quite a talent for the English language?"

Nymphadora couldn't help it -- she giggled.

"That was a very lovely 'good morning' you gave me earlier, and I have to admit it takes me at least twenty seconds longer to say hello," Harry said with an out-and-out look of earnest. "Got yourself sorted into Gryffindor too...and I'm _hoping_ you know your own name..."

Harry gave the eleven-year old a suspicious look, as though doubting the truth of his last assumption, and dramatically pursed his lips – all over Nymphadora's deliriously high-pitched giggles. He kept making faces at the laughing girl, which only encouraged her laughter further and further rendering her unable to say anything at all for loss of oxygen.

"Oh dear," Harry said in mock-seriousness. "You've forgotten how to speak! Now all you can do is babble..."

She clapped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the sounds, but now high squeaks were coming out as she shook her head furiously. Her face was flushed bright pink, her hair electric blonde. Harry was having a hard time not laughing as well.

"How are you ever going to do spells if all you can do is laugh?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"NYMPHADORA!" She gasped, and took ridiculously huge breaths to try and stave off her giggles as she rushed out, "Nymphadora Amelia Tonks!"

"And a great witch to boot," Harry added and it was reward enough to see the huge beaming grin plaster itself across her young face.

"Thanks, Harry!" she exclaimed, a giggle still undertoning her words. "I'm gonna go help McGonagall hang the mistletoe!"

For Minerva's sake, he _really_ should have stopped the young girl, but he watched her pick up her robes and run off at a dead sprint towards the unsuspecting professor; her blonde curls waving wildly behind her and her green and red striped kneesocks visible as she kicked up her heels.

With a shake of his head, and chuckling to himself, Harry straightened and brushed his hair back behind his ear. Starting suddenly, he swore he heard someone sigh but looking around, he couldn't pick out the owner. He did, however, spot the foursome now standing in the Hall's propped open doors.

He had several options:

1. Hide

2. Run

3. Run _and_ hide.

Or, the less favorable option:

4. Confront and act as though nothing happened.

He was just beginning to reason on how to get himself into the safety of the Hospital Wing for the rest of the holiday break, when he was saved. Some important person, in some place, at this point in time decided to cut Harry Granger a break. And he had to take a step back to keep from being trampled by his savior.

"_SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRI!_"

Nymphadora _flung_ herself into her cousin's arms with an ecstatic cry that bordered on squeal, and Harry was just thankful that he had gotten out of her way. The Marauders circled around the attention-grabbing young girl like a handful of doting relatives and Harry gave her a salute of gratitude before making his escape.

He wasn't running _really_; he hadn't been approached, no purposeful looks had been exchanged telling him to wait – as far as he was concerned, he hadn't even noticed the Marauders' entrance. Sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers he wound his way through benches and tables to go and help Flitwick recharm the ceiling for constant snowfall.

"Come _on_, Siri!" He could hear Nymphadora demand snappishly. "Hurry up!"

Curious, Harry turned his head slightly as if to look out one of the frost-covered windows lined with evergreen garlands and silver tinsel and took a quick sidelong glance back at Nymphadora. She was _dragging_ Sirius behind her.

A smirk and then it was gone as Harry resumed his leisurely pace up to the head table. Flitwick was currently trying to clamber up on top of a stack of chairs, and the brunet decided not to rush to join him, for fear of being used as a stepladder as well. Besides, nearly all of the students that had opted to stay for the winter hols had come down to help with the annual decorating extravaganza, and there were plenty of people to exchange hellos with and wish holiday cheer.

He waved to the band of third year Gryffindor boys he'd helped get unstuck from the side of the Astronomy Tower two days past (an unfortunate result of picking a fight with Lucius and his friends), nodded to Lionel Lovegood who gave him an owlish look from behind the large round glasses that dwarfed his mousy face, and gratefully took the chocolate frog a passing prefect girl offered him.

He pulled the string to pop open the cardboard box and skillfully extracted the customary card inside without freeing the magically croaking treat. He flipped it portrait-side up and almost lost his eyebrows as they shot up into his hairline. The witch's hair was so blonde it was nearly white, and her demure gaze changed upon seeing him; cherry lips pursing in a silently blown kiss.

**Sacharissa Tugwood**

**Pioneer of Beautifying Potions**

"**Thanks to Sacharissa Tugwood, the world is a more beautiful place."**

_Oh, gag me with a spoon_, Harry thought to himself and stuffed the offended-looking Sacharissa into his back pocket without a second glance. Flitwick had resigned himself to the more stable surface of the teacher's table and Harry deemed it safe enough now to go and help. He bit into the frog just has two small hands wrapped around his wrist.

"Siri, this is—"

Harry recognized Nymphadora's voice even as he started to turn.

"—_my boyfriend_."

"WHAT!" Harry screeched, severing the poor chocolate frog's body in half. Its back end hit the stone floor with a gross plop, and one arm hung awkwardly between his lips before he swallowed painfully fast. His face was plum pink.

Apparently those important fuckers in some unknown place were just jerking his chains.

Harry's eyes shot instantly to Sirius' and the two boys stared at each other in shock. Then the ravenet started to laugh and Harry's horrified gaze shot down to the young girl who'd latched herself onto his arm. She was looking up at him adoringly and then before his very eyes she'd begun to morph her features. Her nose shrank slightly and upturned pertly while hardly visible freckles splattered across its bridge. Her eyes elongated to slender ovals and darkened to a dark chocolate brown. Harry was left gaping as her hair twisted itself to match his own curls, and fuzzy sienna locks fell down to her shoulders.

Harry was looking down into the face of Hermione Granger.

He felt the blood drain from his face as though it had been flushed down into the soles of his shoes, and he had to resist the sudden lurching urge to sick right there in the middle of the Great Hall. Sirius, and the others who had now joined in, were laughing still, not noticing Harry's sudden pallor, and Nymphadora was beaming with pride at having done such a good job matching her new "boyfriend's" appearance.

"Nym...Nymphador—" He was having trouble speaking and was surprised that he could be heard at all for the sudden dryness in his mouth. "I-I..."

She grabbed his hand with one of her smaller ones and, with a child's decisiveness, began pulling him towards the open Hall doors. "Let's go find some mistletoe, Harry."

Nymphadora took a half-dozen quick steps and then she was breaking into an all-out run, her elated giggles joining the Marauders' guffaws as Harry stumbled to keep up with her. Portraits rushed past, and their bodies flickered light then dark as they ran through the patches of light the wintery windows let through. Harry was in a daze throughout their whole castle flight. He was being dragged through Hogwarts by, well, _himself_. Or herself – it hurt his head just to think about it.

He did, however, regain his senses eventually and he dug his heels into the stone so suddenly that Nymphadora was yanked backwards mid-run and stumbled backwards into his chest. He was breathing harder than she, especially since when the young girl turned to face him properly, she didn't take the respectable step back but stayed with a half-foot of touching him. "Harry, wha—"

"N-Nymphadora stop." He said it as forceful as he could manage while panting slightly.

Footsteps echoed down the wide and open corridor and though Nymphadora was fixatedly staring at him, Harry turned his head to glance back down the way they'd come. He couldn't yet see the approaching persons, but a moment later their identities were obvious to discern.

**BANG! CRASH! CLATTER!** – went one of the enchanted suits of armor from two corridors back as it was imaginably knocked the floor. There was a short scattering of applause from two separate sources and then:

"Gods, Peter – you're so clumsy!"

Harry groaned. With his hand still clasped in Nymphadora's from their run, he pulled the two of them into a nearby classroom and shut the door. Pressing a hand to his throbbing forehead, he glanced over his shoulder at her. The girl, who'd been forced to release his hand in his haste to close the door, had wandered into the middle of the large classroom, making her look even smaller than the eleven-year old already was. She looked curiously around before turning to Harry.

"Is there mistletoe in here?" she asked, guessing at the reason for their sudden rush into the room.

"Ican'tbeyourboyfriend."

Nymphadora blinked her Hermione-brown eyes at him waspishly, working out what he'd said in her head. A look of clarity lit up her face, but then she promptly deflated again. "Huh?"

Harry sighed and ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "I can't be your boyfriend, Nymphadora," he repeated, taking a step into the room and towards her.

"Oh..." she whispered and looked crestfallen. No, she looked as though he'd just gotten her owl caught in a helicopter's propellers. "W-Why not?"

Harry's stomach knotted at the arrival of tears in her eyes, but he was somewhat grateful that her impending bout of crying had caused her eyes to unconsciously shift to a watery pale blue thus destroying the image of Hermione Granger. Worrying at his bottom lip, he crossed the room and sat himself down in a desk a few feet in front of the girl whose quivering lips had evolved into fullblown body-shakes.

"It's, well, it's kind of a secret..." Harry said after a moment of tense lip-licking. "Do you think you could keep this secret?"

Nymphadora gave a whimper of teary anxiousness and nodded her head emphatically.

Harry sighed and smoothed his hands down his lap and rested them atop his knees. "I can't be your boyfriend because—" he chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to think of the best way to tell the little girl that he wasn't interested "—well, because I'm not going to be here that long."

"What?" She cried out in dismay. Her hands were clutched fretfully together in front of her chest.

Nodding, he tried a small smile in hopes that it would help cheer her. It didn't and he let it drop with a sad thought. "Yes, and I'll be going far, far away," he went on, feeling extremely awkward about the whole thing. "You can't have a boyfriend who lives so far away, now can you..."

"Oh..." She sniffled loudly. Then she mumbled, "I guess not..."

Letting a long breath of relief, Harry discovered it was too soon for such luck. "B-But," Nymphadora was stuttering. "This is your _home_!"

He shook his head wearily. "It's my 'home' that I have to go back to, Nymphadora. I've got friends and responsibilities there; it's where I belong."

"You've got friends _here_!" The young girl insisted. She stamped her mary jane down onto the floor and a few scattered tears were knocked loose. "A-And I'll miss you if you leave."

Harry was touched by the eleven year old's words and he made a note for Hermione to mention it to Tonks upon returning to his original time. "Thank you for saying so."

Harry smiled his usual soft smile, and Nymphadora returned it (after a moment) with a weak one of her own. "You're a great witch," he told her, hoping it would make her feel better. "And you're very pretty. I don't think you'll have any problems finding a new boyfriend; though, maybe this time you could pick one a little closer to your own age, hm?"

"You think I'm pretty?" She suddenly gushed excitedly, putting her hands to her pink cheeks.

_Girls_.

Harry's smile faltered slightly and the corner of his eye gave a small twitch. "Er, yes, well, it's like a tradition for the Blacks, right?" He joked weakly, and then realized what he'd said and just about dropped his head right onto the desk.

Nymphadora caught his groan and giggled into her hand as the last of her premature tears dried away. "I'm going to tell cousin Siri you think we're _pretty_," she teased impishly.

Harry was wondering what it would take for the gods to strike him down right now. A lightening bolt, perhaps? It'd be fitting.

"So," he gritted out through his teeth that were having a tendency to clench. "Glad we've got this all sorted out..."

Nymphadora's sigh replaced her giggles. "I suppose..." was what she said.

"We can still be friends if you like," Harry said, hoping to reassure her. For once he succeeded and she let loose a wild, toothy, brilliantly beaming smile and nodded emphatically, her bushy hair flying all about her pixy face.

"BEST friends," she corrected. Then, as an afterthought, added, "_Forever_."

His smile was weak and strained as he finally agreed with her. "Sure. Best friends write each other all the time, even if they're a ways apart."

Nymphadora clapped her hands together and Harry almost jumped right out of his shoes as her hair suddenly turned a violent shade of lime, held up in two high pigtails. "Wait until I tell all my friends, they'll be _so _jealous!"

Harry gave her a strange look, his hand already on the classroom door.

"They're all gonna wish they were your BFF," she explained in a rush. Her mouth opened in a surprised 'o' after, and Harry felt a sudden worrying feeling in his gut at what she was about to say next. "Oh! We need to know _everything_ about each other! It's the right of BFFs."

"Ah," Harry mumbled and scratched the back of his head to avoid her avid gaze. "Well, we can definitely do that later, yeah? I'm a little busy today with..." – _avoiding your Cousin & Co._, he thought to himself – "...getting all my yule presents wrapped."

"Oh..." Nymphadora looked put out, but the cheerful young girl quickly brightened again. "That's alright. It'll gimme some time to think up questions to ask ya!"

His smile twitched again, but he pushed open the door and took a step out into the hall to prop it open with his body. "Well, let's get out of here then," he suggested, hoping he sounded as charming as he could.

Nymphadora flounced out in newly found enthusiasm for the day and it was her squeal of joy that made him look up from his shoes. James, Peter, Sirius, and Remus had just turned into the end of their corridor. A look of pure horror settled over Harry's face and his insides writhed about like a pair of eels about to be served for dinner.

"_SIIIIIIIIIIRI!_" Nymphadora took off running towards the Marauders, her pigtails flying back behind her. "_I've got somethin' to tell yoooooou_!"

Swearing colorfully under his breath and turning a pale shade of pink at just the thought of what had yet to happen, Harry abandoned the room and his "best friend". It took all his willpower not to run and his furiously fast-paced strides took him closer and closer to the next junction of hallways.

Before little Nymphadora had even reached her cousin to tell him of Harry's inadvertent slip of the tongue, the brunet boy had disappeared around the next corner. And as soon as Harry was sure he was out of sight, he threw pride and dignity to the wind and sprinted as fast as he could for Gryffindor Tower.

He didn't think he'd ever had such a dramatic hols, including the numerous times he'd had to save the school. And it wasn't even close to over yet.

* * *


	9. Christmas Spirit

**Completed:** (9/20/05) 9:17 PM  
**Posted: **(9/20/05) 9:40 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ PAY ATTENTION! Be warned this is a tripairing of Hermione x James x Sirius. It is not a triangle, where both boys are trying to woo Hermione, but a "tripairing" with love going all around. Mmk?

_A/N: _Oi! I know it's been just AGES since I've updated and for that I WAY apologize! School just started up and I have cross-country after school and I was injured for a while, but now I'm back! The next chapters should be coming out quickly as I'm trying to finish this by Oct. 31st. Alright, on to the chapter. You were wondering where the humor had gone, hadn't you? Buckle in kiddies – THE MARAUDERS RIDE AGAIN!

* * *

Harry was becoming an expert at the 'dodge-and-avoid'. 

In the three days since the bed-turned-confessional incident and the would-be-girlfriend disaster he'd narrowly escaped, Harry had exhausted himself to the point of collapse keeping half a castle between himself and those inside it who would take advantage of any opportunity involving close proximity. And for his efforts he'd been able to run after the singular kiss James had caught him in outside the Herbology greenhouses, had 'incendio'ed any suspicious looking notes that came his way from either, and had vehemently refused Sirius' daily proposition each time.

All-in-all not too bad.

The flustered brunet was now currently hidden away in an abandoned classroom where, by way of a cookie lure, he'd convinced Peter to meet him in to help the shorter boy with his DADA essay; sixteen inches on the decipherable habits and traits of vampires, due at the start of second term.

"What are you so anxious about?" Harry asked kindly – if anyone was going to be antsy it would be _him_. "This isn't about the Transfiguration assignment, is it?"

Peter looked sheepish. "McGonagall said she'd let me look at it early. _Tomorrow_..." He sounded miserable.

"Well, to be fair," Harry said. "Nothing you do now is going to change your grade, so you really oughtn't be moping."

The mousy boy stuck out his tongue. Harry smiled.

"Do you remember the acronym we made?" He pulled his knee up to his chest to squish himself more comfortably down in the hard chairs and picked out a gingersnap.

"Acrowhatsit? _Oh_..." Peter dug a scrap of wrinkly parchment out of the back of his bag. "T.R.E.P.I.D."

Harry gave his study partner an admonishing look and dropped his crumbling cookie over the cheatsheet parchment, Peter had dug up. Peter was crestfallen and awaiting the inevitable.

"What does it stand for?"

Peter glanced down, but the mnemonic device's explanation was covered in gingersnap. He groaned and began ticking off the words on his round fingers. "Teeth, uh...no Reflection...good Eyesight, er..." he tried for another peek at his paper as though the PTB would have come and cleared away the crumbs for him as he was being such a good little student.

No dice.

Harry was waiting patiently for the last three. Peter was about to break out in a sweat.

"Er, hmm, Pale?" When Harry didn't challenge his half-question he assumed it was right and blazed forward. "Well, uh lessee...Invincible? No! _Immortal_...and, uh...what was that last one..." he drummed his fingers on his chin, idly wondering if Harry had moved at all. "D...D...hmm."

His blue eyes wandered around the room, still struggling to think, and his gaze landed almost fatefully on the long shadows being cast by an empty bookcase. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "They like the Dark!"

Beaming at a job well done, Peter snatched up Harry's dropped gingersnap as his reward and stuffed the cookie in his mouth with the brunet's frown of stolen cookie-ness. Opening up his own DADA text, Harry cut short Peter's one-man victory party with a noncommittal sound.

"I seem to have forgotten the characteristics of vampires," he said, nose deep in his book. "Would you mind repeating them?"

Peter now regretted taking the gingersnap. He sighed and started from the top again. "Uh, Teeth, no Reflection, good, er..._damn_..."

* * *

When Harry was finally satisfied with Peter's reviewing, the pair packed up their things and left for the Gryffindor Tower with plans to abandon their bags for the rest of the day and enjoy the Christmas Eve festivities. The brunet was listening intently to Peter's excited description of the usual traditions and events, taking particular interest in the ones that hadn't carried over to Hermione's time. 

The blond-haired boy was just in the middle of explaining the "lighting of the grounds", when they turned the corner and walked in on a near-commencing duel. Peter immediately went for his own wand, but Harry didn't bother and stomped right over to where a fuming James was foolishly facing off against both Snape and Malfoy.

"Stop it. All of you," Harry demanded, facing the two Slytherins. "Do you really want to get detention on Christmas Eve?"

"Move, Granger," Severus' velvet voice was firm.

"I'll get right on that," Harry rejoined evenly. "Right after you three put away your wands."

"Listen to _Snivellus_, Harry." James' voice was a growl behind him.

The brunet was getting annoyed. "Is that _really_ the only insult you can think of?" He shot over his shoulder crossly. Snape's lips held the ghost of a smile before falling flat again. "You've all proven how manly you are, so can we please—"

Lucius glared at him as though he were a tiresome gnat and rolled his eyes. "_Insolent Gryffindor_."

Harry would have laughed if James hadn't seen the joke as an attack on his honor and angrily raised his wand. His violent wand-waving immediately brought like reactions from his opponents and Harry was just a second too late jumping in to stop them.

The spells collided with Harry at their center and let out of a rapid series of harsh sparks. Harry's body jerked upwards grotesquely like it was deciding whether or not it wanted to become airborne from the hit before crumpling like a boneless mass, sprawled out awkwardly over his crammed book satchel.

"Shit," Lucius muttered and restowed his wand.

James had forgotten all about his and had instead falling beside Harry's still body, anxiously trying to remember how to find a pulse. He was cursing colorfully enough for the lot of them. "Don't just stand there, Wormtail!" He shouted. "Go get Pomfrey!"

James cursed again and shook Harry slightly, muttering encouraging things like 'wake up, damnit'.

Snape sighed and looked down at the inert body at his feet. Lucius glower was tangible beside him. "Stupid Gryffindors," he said lowly and waved his wand almost lazily. "_Ennervate!_"

One hand twitched. Then another. Harry's whole body was stirring with slight, half-conscious movements, followed by a groan and a gradual opening of his chocolate eyes.

"Harry?" James ventured, his hand drifting closer to the brunet's neck.

Harry sat up so suddenly that James gave a short cry and fell backwards, but it was nothing compared to the startled **yelp!** from Snape when a slender hand fisted in the silken material of his tie and his knees hit the unyielding stone floor with painfully bone-jarring force. And the next thing any of the boys knew, Harry had yanked Snape down into a kiss.

James was shocked. _Malfoy_ was shocked. Harry broke away _screaming_: "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING!"

Then he'd clapped both hands over his mouth, thus dropping Severus onto the floor, and doing a fair imitation of a ripe tomato, fell off his bag perch. James shifted slightly one way, it didn't much matter, but the sudden movement had Harry squawking between his hands and, jerking backwards, skidded down his bag and crashed hard onto his arse.

Then his eyes went sort of glassy and his hands fell away with almost eerie disconcertion. The odd visage passed after a second and the scrawny brunet was yanked by an invisible chain across the small distance between himself and Snape who was futilely trying escape scrambling backwards on all fours. The Slytherin did manage to dodge remarkably well and Harry's mouth just barely nicked the side of his jaw, their noses mashing uncomfortably.

"I'm so sorry!" Harry exclaimed earnestly when Snape awkwardly shoved him off.

Malfoy came to his friend's rescue at last and wrenched him up by the back of his robes, dragging him out of the reach of Harry's fingers. But Harry's dark eyes were now set determinedly and his brow furrowed. Just as a thought seemed to dawn in his head, glass shone over his eyes and he jerked up to his feet and swayed a moment before staggering into a startled Lucius and getting a mouthful of the Slytherin Crest on his robes.

It was Harry who pushed back now and his serious and stone-faced demeanor was back. "Every time I try and say anything I have to kiss someone first," He explained and, despite his calm countenance, a sharp, narrow-eyed look warned them how angry he was.

"Harry?"

Harry looked back over his shoulder, and Peter took a step back; being the only one intelligent enough to take the brunet's expression seriously enough to realize its severity. Really, Harry knew it was unfair to group Peter with the other three – he hadn't done anything after all. But Harry was being forced to kiss random people the instant he so much as _thought_ about speaking, so anyone within a five mile radius was now going to be subject to his anger.

"Ah, gentleman—" Harry whirled around. "I see you've discovered my little holiday treat."

"Professor Dumbledore." Harry immediately snapped to attention; his politeness rewarding him first with an uncomfortable collision against James' lapel.

"_Dumbledore!_" James glared over Harry's head at Peter, who merely shrugged. He'd sent him for _Poppy_.

Severus and Lucius both echoed curt "Headmaster"s out of respect for the wizard, but seemed no more in awe of him than a sack of potatoes. Both of them wouldn't mind being anywhere but here, and if they hadn't hesitated would have been long gone by now.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the elderly wizard greeted amiably, clapping his weathered hands together with an amused beam. "Might I trust that this was a mischief-free encounter, my dear boys? I wouldn't want to hear anything that might tarnish each of your good names..."

James smirked and turned to share it with Harry, but the look quickly fell when it was met by Harry's deep-set scowl. His arms were folded over his chest and his dark eyes were smoldering dangerously. The ravenet swallowed visibly and eased himself out of killing range.

Harry, then shooting a look at the two stoic Slytherins, gritted his teeth and drew his wand fluidly from inside of his robes and with practiced grace arced it through the air. Shimmering gold letters followed his tracing wandhand, but before he'd even made it past the first word, the shimmering light changed to festive tinsel-letters, wrapped in red ribbon. Harry grimaced, but kept going.

_What's going on_, he wrote.

Dumbledore beamed, dimpling cheeks and crinkling at the corners of his eyes already deep set with crows-feet. "What ever do you mean, Mr. Granger?"

Harry had to try _very_ hard not demonstrate a proper flying tackle. Biting his tongue, he pointed to himself, opened and shut his hands to mimic speaking, and then mimed from his mouth to the other boys. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Dumbledore.

The elderly wizard 'tsked', shaking his head lightly, and Harry was justifiably suspicious. Dumbledore was still infuriatingly amused and smiling, and when he flicked his hands out of his sleeves to clasp them together Harry had the sudden urge to just shake the man silly just so that he'd finally _do_ something helpful.

"Now, Mr. Granger – where _have_ your impeccable manners gone? Speak with your words, you know, not your hands."

Jaws dropped.

But it was too late – Harry'd already thought of replying and his shoes scuffed the stones as he drifted towards, gods, _Dumbledore_ of all people. Luckily, James was in his flight plath, and though he was loath to get into a stickier situation with the boy, there was no way in hell he was kissing Dumbledore. He jerked to the side at the last minute, tripping over feet that were quite determined in setting off in another direction, and crashed into James.

A hand wildly grasped his elbow, holding him up, and another found the wall just behind to keep them both from toppling over. Harry's right arm was crushed uncomfortable between their chests and the other suspended uselessly in the air by James' grip on his elbow. And probably for the first time, Harry relished in his own short stature – without rising onto his toes to meet the ravenet, Harry's mouth came just up to his chin and James' was kissing the tip of his nose.

The brunet pushed away, but it was only to awkwardly twist to face Dumbledore as James was still holding his arm. When he was spoke next it was at a speed much faster than usual; presumably, to get in as much conversation before his speaking allotment from the kiss expired.

"Sir, you can't really expect me to go around kissing everyone for the right to talk!" Harry exclaimed, elbowing James in the ribs to get him to let go. "It simply isn't proper! And it's not at all conducive to my educ—"

Time was up. His mouth snapped shut mid-word and with a huff he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned his _displeasure_ at the beaming headmaster.

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth and folded his hands over his beard. "Yes, Mr. Granger, I'm well aware of your current predicament. I may be a bit past my youth, it's true, but there was hardly a need to repeat yourself so many times."

Harry was barely managing to keep his anger silent. He also had a very strong urge to strangle Dumbledore with his own beard.

"Now," the old wizard went on. "And this is one of my more ingenious ideas – late last evening, when I'm sure you were all tucked tightly away in your beds, Hogwarts castle was enchanted with a quaint little charm of my own creation; the objective of which to unite the students and faculty in the spirit of the Yuletide. And I must say, it's working quite splendidly so far, don't you think?"

Harry goggled at him.

"So," James asked for clarification. "All the spells we cast are..._Christmasified_?"

Dumbledore snapped his fingers. "Precisely!"

The boys exchanged looks. Harry didn't seem to be all that 'in-the-spirit' to them and the poor bloke had borne the brunt of three separate spells.

The brunet in question was faster than the enchantment this time, and preemptively grabbed James' hand before his eyes had even begun to glaze. A quick brush of his lips across the back of James' hand and he was speaking with forced civility. "Can you _please_ remove the spell, sir?"

Dumbledore burst into such a sudden fit of laughter that Harry took a step back in surprise. The elderly man was positively shaking and had to take off his spectacles to wipe away the small tears of amusement that had caught there. He was still shaking his white head in hilarity when he put them back on and patted his stomach.

"_Of course not_, my dear boy! Only the spell's castors can do _that_," he chuckled as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Then Dumbledore folded his hands into the great sleeves of his violet robes and walked back down the hall he'd come through, still chuckling slightly and shaking his head until the trailing hem of his heavy robes disappeared around a far corner. Harry was still staring slack-jawed after him, when Peter's incessant tapping on his shoulder finally registered.

"Uh, Harry...?"

The brunet bit back his annoyed retort and begrudgingly turned around only to find Lucius and Severus making a quick exit down the opposite corridor. Pushing past James, who'd appeared at his side – presumably to act as a kissing-post, Harry ran after the two Slytherins, wand brandished.

He cast a wordless spell, but whatever it was meant to be, it came out as a flock of turtle doves that made Lucius instantly raise a hand to protect his perfectly glossed locks from gross possibilities. Angrily stowing his wand back up his sleeve, Harry stomped around in front of them and pointed, quite emphatically, at his throat.

Severus jumped and shifted away a bit, not that Harry could blame him after he'd practically molested the poor bloke, but right now he was more focused on getting these _curse_ified spells lifted than soothing Snape's damaged manly psyche. Lucius sneered and tossed his ponytail over his shoulder with his usual haughtiness.

"This is what your meddling gets you, Granger," he said coolly. "You're a smart little Gryffindor – fix it yourself."

The blonde brushed past Harry and with a jerk of his head motioned Severus to follow, all the while ignoring the multitude of hand gestures coming from the mute brunet on the various fashions of how to inflict bodily harm on them. But they were Slytherins and they had to have heard (or seen, in Harry's case) it all before, and they slinked off towards the dungeons without a second glance back.

Harry now turned to face his last chance for liberation. James.

He made a threatening gesture with his wand, but made no move to go back down the hall towards him. In fact, he rather thought that running in the opposite direction was a better plan. They stared at each other across the corridor; James's eyes unreadable, Harry's narrowed in a glare.

"What are you waiting for, Prongs?" Peter prompted, glancing hastily between the two of them. "The pageant's going to be starting soon. So take it off and we can be going..."

Calmly, and very slowly, James resheathed his wand and brushed imaginary lint from the front of his robes. "No..."

"What!"

Harry met James' eyes again and felt his throat close.

Not taking his gaze from Harry's, the dark haired Head Boy smiled unevenly and said to Peter, "Where's your sense of Maraudership? This couldn't be a better prank. I'm just sorry I can't take full credit for it..."

Peter was outraged enough for himself _and_ Harry; his stout little body literally shaking with it. "This is taking it too far, James!" His small fists convulsed. "I'm going to get Remus."

Harry waved his hands wildly at Peter's turned back as the blond ran off to find the lycanthrope, but he didn't see. Remus was more than likely already trussed up in his pageant costume and would be unable to get away, but more than that Harry wasn't at all too anxious to be left alone with the other boy. Too late, he thought to draw his wand, but all that came from the effort was a short sputter of creamy goop.

James was walking towards him now and he kept his wand up in pitiful defense. If all else failed, he could blind him with eggnog. James, obviously not realizing the possible danger he was in from Christmas-y maiming, didn't stop, not even when Harry flung out another hand to dissuade him.

Harry's heart jumped into his throat when James stepped up to him, putting his feet between Harry's own, defiantly stanced, and drawing up to within a hairsbreadth of touching. He had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze and when he did his warm breath and their close proximity fogged the bottom curve of James' glasses. When his strong hands gripped Harry's upper arms, it was all the brunet could do to keep his wand up and the thin wooden rod jabbed into James' ribs.

Warm hazel eyes dropped down and then back up with a growing half-grin, though his eyes were soft. "I take it you haven't changed your mind then..." he murmured.

Harry was confused, his mind reeling. Unable to draw his wand and unwilling to kiss him for it, Harry conveyed his confusion as best he could through expression alone.

"Sirius told me," James said. He gave a soft snort of laughter and grinned more wryly. "Yelled at me was more like it..."

His grip lightened and Harry's eyelashes fluttered rapidly as one hand came up to brush back the wayward curls from his face. He couldn't describe what was happening to him, how he felt. It was immeasurable, incalculable, but seeping into every pore of his very being. Deep inside his heart, back where the pain and ache lingered, Harry felt Hermione stretch and rise.

"I can't get you out of my head," he said quietly. "I tried, but..."

Harry shivered as the back of his knuckles grazed the line of his face and caressed his cheek. He could only shake his head and James brought the pad of his thumb down along the slighter boy's jaw. They were so close that each breath had to be kept shallow and short or else their chests would rise too much, their robes would brush each other, and they'd be touching. They were so close that Harry could hear every shifting cloth, every whisper of lashes against skin.

His eyes squeezed shut as James' head lowered, but no kiss came. Instead, there was a hot breath across the shell of his ear and the feather-like brush of James' hair against his face. Harry was frozen rigid as stone under James' hands scarcely daring to breath.

"I think I could...change for you," he whispered and Harry's eyes rolled upwards with fluttering eyelids. "_I want to_..."

A long, low shudder of breath escaped Harry's lips and his wand hand shook, trying to decide what to do. In a shift of weight, James' foot shifted and slipped into the curve of his. It was subtly sensual and more intimate than all the caresses and all the whispered promises in the world. He couldn't breathe.

A shaking hand reached up and laid a soft palm across James' cheek and the breath against the brunet's ear stilled at the touch. It was Hermione who turned just enough to gloss slightly parted lips across James' cheekbone, but it was Harry who said "_Don't..._".

He pushed away and walked past him down the hallway Peter had taken. He felt rather than saw James' turn and the walk became a jog. The eyes were boring into the back of his skull and Harry felt like he was going to be sick. He was in an all out run by the time he rounded the corner.

He tore down corridors and pushed through crowds of students, whose annoyed shouts followed after him with mutters of 'that odd new kid'. A pair of Hufflepuffs were kissing under a sprig of mistletoe and Harry skidded around them only to hear the startled cries of the third years. The bundle of leaves and berries had unstuck itself from the ceiling rafters and was now floating after him.

_You've got to be kidding me!_

Yanking on his hair in frustration, Harry pushed himself down the wall and ran for the Grand Staircase, fearing that any minute James would turn the corner. The green and red ornament cooed and bobbed up and down behind him, picking up a few more friends as Harry reached the stairs.

He teetered on the edge of the stairway and finally stopped his mad race. He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. Growling silently, he ran both hands haphazardly through his shorn locks and took in a few breaths. He was just going to go down to the Great Hall for the pageant and find Peter...yes, that was exactly what he was going to do. No one got molested with Peter nearby.

**WHUMP!** A mistletoe bundle collided with his head and – cooing – fluttered around his face. **WHUMP! WHUMP!** Harry batted away the obsessive foliage and took a step down onto the stairs, drawing his wand. **WHUMP!**

Harry's foot went out from under him and he fell hard. He skidded down the stars on his arse and managed to get turned rightways around before he collided with a solid body and the two of them tumbled in a mass of limbs and tangled robes onto the second floor landing.

Coughing violently amid the cloud of dust they'd stirred up. Harry hacked and wheezed and rolled onto his side so he could sit up. Eyes watering slightly and face feeling pinched, Harry sneezed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. There was a low rumble, but Harry attributed it to his partner who was now groaning and trying to sit up as well.

But then a cold wetness tingled across the back of his neck and trickled down his robes. Harry shivered and rubbed at the skin there. Another icy prick fanned out from a point on top of his head, and now he did look up. A rather conspicuous gray cloud hovered half a dozen feet above his head. It was letting loose a tiny flurry of snowflakes down upon him, circling him in his own personal winter wonderland.

Harry buried his head in his hands with a muted groan.

"Ughn...Harry?"

Hands falling back down, Harry was left staring into Sirius' surprised face. Feeling quite sure he hadn't done anything to deserve _this_, Harry scrambled to his feet and started unsteadily down the last flight of stairs trying not to slip again, his personal stormcloud following him like a bad shadow.

Rubbing at his eyes to ensure he wasn't seeing things, Sirius watched a procession of moaning and purring mistletoe pass him by and float down after a snow-covered Harry, bobbing and jostling one another with short coos; all of them giving disappointed wails when Harry slammed the Great Hall doors, locking them out.

Just another Christmas at Hogwarts.

* * *

When Harry walked into the Great Hall looking like he'd just been dunked in a snow bank, he was morbidly pleased to find that he was not the only one suffering. Nearly a third of Gryffindor and Slytherin alike were under Dumbledore's not-so-jolly curse, but that wasn't much of a surprise. The rivaling houses were always getting each other shipped off to the Infirmary. 

A smattering of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had been got as well – a tiny first year was crying great goose-y sobs into her blue necktie, one blond pigtail dyed a dark green and the other crimson red. Harry supposed she'd gotten caught in the middle of a duel as he had.

Grateful that his snowcloud had finally stopped sputtering flakes on him and dispersed, Harry squeezed the dampness out of his robes, wringing out the thick, scratchy cloth with both hands. It made quite a sizeable puddle on the floor, but he didn't much care and slid into the space Peter had saved for him.

The blond turned apologetically to him and helped him brush the snowflakes off his shoulders "M'sorry, Harry. Remus was already getting ready and then everyone started coming in and—"

Harry touched his arm lightly and gave him a reassuring smile. Peter smiled back and the relief blatant in his face relaxed his tense shoulders. "I figured you wouldn't want to sit by that big jerk," he said amiably. "So I got us a spot in with the girls."

Harry looked up at this. They were indeed set down right in the middle of a gaggle of seventh year girls from each of the four houses. They giggled at him, eyelashes fluttering coquettishly, at which point Harry became _very_ afraid. Turning slightly pink with all the batting eyes on him, Harry coughed and averted his gaze back to Peter with more giggles. _Gods, he wanted to die._

"If it helps," Peter said a bit awkwardly. "I talk to Dumbledore again..."

Harry was shocked, and when he twisted to face Peter a tiny shower of melting flakes tumbled from his hair. For his part, Peter jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Dumbledore and said, "He told me the spell'll wear off at midnight."

Harry rolled his eyes. _Of course._ He started to reach for his wand, then bit his lip and huffed a sigh. Some things just needed to be said, and he couldn't be a hundred percent sure that he wouldn't end up burying the poor bloke in pine needles. So he tapped Peter's shoulder and pointed between them. The blond realized almost immediately what he was trying to convey and gave his consent with an embarrassed nod.

Harry lowered his head and gave Peter a quick peck on the cheek. The girls tittered in surprise. "Thanks, Peter. You're a good friend."

The stout boy's chest swelled with pride despite the pink splotches on his face at being kissed and Harry smiled as the spell silenced him again.

"Aww geez, Harry," Peter said, while doing his best impression of Sirius suave. "Make me feel bad for not getting you a Christmas present."

Harry tried his best to look affronted, but maybe that damn Christmas spirit had finally infected him, because he couldn't hold off his laughter for very long. Peter too burst into laughter at his own joke, and the girls around them began tittering as well when the blond regained enough of his composure to explain Harry's particular "situation".

* * *

"I'm feeling weird now," James mumbled and rubbed uncomfortably at his chest. 

Sirius took his own gaze off of Harry and Peter to spare his best friend a glance. "It's called 'jealousy', mate." He said, stealing two seats from a couple of first years and flopping down.

"No it isn't," James rebuked snidely. He occupied the open seat beside Sirius with equal gracelessness and began fidgeting with his hair. His eyes kept darting up. "I just don't see why they have to be touching all the time..."

Sirius was trying not to laugh at his grumbling friend. _Really_. Checking on the state of the actors filing onto the main dais, Sirius nudged James with his elbow. "Try not to look?" he suggested helpfully.

James gave him a look fit to kill, and Sirius let out a short bark of laughter. Darkness was seeping into the Great Hall as the chandeliers dimmed their candles, and in the sudden hush of whispering that always preceded the start of a performance, Sirius reach out and squeezed James' knee in the fashion of brusque reassurance.

The narrator stepped up in what looked like a bedsheet from the dormitories and instead of the proper silence expected, a swell of giggles and snickering rose from the darkened crowd. Harry was laughing behind his hand in the front row, and when Peter murmured something to him, the brunet waved up at the stage.

It was Remus.

He frowned in typical "prefect" fashion down at the chittering crowd and humphed, readjusting his sheet nitpickily.

After the first year of being forced to reenact the birth of Jesus Christmas, the Hogwarts student populace had decided that instead of repeatedly pageanting the first Christmas, they were going to pick a year that tickled their fancy. Currently, Remus was rambling on, giving the necessary background with as much thespian dignity as he could manage wrapped in a bedsheet – Harry caught snippets over his laughter; "1209", "Turkmenistan", and "a pig-throwing contest". It was a safe bet that the Marauders had had a hand in this year's script.

Before the first act had reached its climax, the hall was bellowing with laughter and the actors themselves were hard pressed not to break up their comical lines with furtive giggles. Scribbling on the back of his napkin with a quill from his pocket, Harry helped outline a dozen possible ways to ensure Remus-of-the-cloth _never_ lived this down, but both boys had to pause often for they'd be seized by fits of laughter so hardy they were unable to keep their hands steady.

Only once did Harry lift his head. James and Sirius were staring at him.

* * *

Harry chattered angrily in Peter's direction and hoped his eyes were properly conveying his intended death ray. It was bloody _freezing_ out, yet here they were, standing calf-deep in snow, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Trees were supposed to ignite, fairies were going to explode – whatever. Harry couldn't care less. All he wanted was to be bloody _indoors_. 

Whatever they were planning on doing for the grounds lighting, they had best do it snappily or Harry would no be held accountable for his actions. On the other hand if the trees _did_ get set on fire it would be nice and warm...

Urg. He was going to KILL Peter.

Fretfully, he tightened the loop of his woolen scarf around his neck and shrugged his shoulders under the heavy weight of his robes and winter cloak so he could bury his lower face into the scratchy maroon and gold stripes. Cold wetness was seeping through his khaki trousers all the way up to his knees and with a childish wail through his scarf he bounced and wiggled his legs back and forth to try and regain some semblance of heat.

"Don't be such a baby," Peter snickered beside him. He plopped down right in the snow and began packing together snowballs.

Unsticking a leg from its ice cube tray in the snow, Harry skimmed his frozen foot across a snow bank, launching a blanketing wall of white powder over the stout boy. He blinked dumbly at the brunet, great clumps of ice hanging from his tousled blond bangs and then with a rodent-like squeak hurriedly scrabbled the cold snow from his face with the backs of his hands.

"_Hey!_" Peter whined with angry petulance. "Why'd ya do that!"

Harry 'hmph'ed and crossed his arms over his chest, transferring his mittened hands from the relative warmth of his pockets to the sealed-up space under his arms. Flippantly tossing his curls over his shoulder with a haughty toss of his head, Harry fretted for a nanosecond on how long it was getting before granting himself a small smirk at what he must have looked like right then – all 'hmph's and swaggering scowls and the like. And his inability to talk wasn't helping matters either.

He'd turn into Professor Snape if he wasn't careful.

Reminding himself again that Peter had no part in causing his current predicament and that, quite to the contrary, he'd been nothing less than true friend all day, Harry ignored the Slytherin-y urge to kick snow at him again and offered a gloved hand to help the blond up.

And what did he get for his kindness and overwhelming compassion for his fellow man? A headlong trip into the snow bank next to Peter. Harry jumped up with a shriek and, despite being now up to his waist in snow, showed a desperate concern in getting the snow shaken out of his clothes.

Peter was laughing hysterically at him, his snickers squeaking at awkward decibels, and he fell back into the snow clutching at his stomach. Harry couldn't stop himself from exploding, but Peter knew it was coming and with tears leaking out of his eyes he blocked Harry's unintentional advances with a comical foot in his face.

Harry twitched. Kneeling in the snow with his hands half-out towards Peter and a boot covered in muddy snow painfully shoved against his face, Harry's fingers convulsed and a vein in his temple throbbed. Then he was shoving Peter's leg aside and latching onto his laughing throat with both hands.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR – GETTING ME ALL WET! YOU'RE SO DEAD! I SHOULD JUST LEAVE YOU IN A SNOW BANK TO FREEZE TO DEATH! SOME FRIEND YOU ARE!" Harry yelled, doing his utmost best to strangle the blond through his scarf and bunched cloak hood; though, it was somewhat less dramatic with Peter still continuing to wheeze out emphatic laughter.

Having now said the piece that had invoked the spell in the first place, Harry rushed to squeeze even more into the short window of time he was allotted. "AND THAT HURT! DO YOU ALWAYS GO AROUND KICKING PEOPLE IN THE FACE—"

His chattering teeth snapped shut as the spell ended and his whole jaw rattled so much he bit his tongue. With a frustrated noise coming from the back of his throat, Harry rolled off to the side with one hand rubbing his cheek and satisfied himself with a swift kick in between Peter's ribs which effectively cut off the hyena impression.

The blond still had an infuriating grin on his face when he got up brushing himself off. "Why don't I go get us some hot cocoa," he suggested smugly. "You can stay here and...'cool off'."

Harry rolled his eyes at the poor pun. There was no such thing as a good pun as far as he was concerned. Rubbing at his aching jaw, he glared at Peter's back as he ran off with a waved goodbye behind his back and bent his legs, putting the flats of his feet together and dropping his hand listlessly into his lap.

There really wasn't anything for it – he was beyond wet. If he stood he'd be just as equally wet, but tiring out his poor legs waiting for Peter's uncertain return. So sitting it was. With a woeful sigh, Harry began raking the snow from his sodden curls.

* * *

"What do we have here Padfoot?" 

Harry jumped a foot into the air, falling back in a sprawl across the deepening snow.

Like they were pulled from the shadows themselves, two shapes separated from the thick lines of the grounds' evergreens and crunched through the snow like it wasn't even there. Everything was black on black. Sirius' unbound hair trailed behind him like a silken veil and each step was made with the whole movement of the body creating a sensual, rolling, gliding illusion. James matched his longer strides and stopped with one hand on his hip, his expensive dragonhide cloak hanging carelessly off one shoulder.

"A little snow angel, is it?" Sirius smirked. James grinned and inclining his head slightly towards his partner caught his glasses in the moonlight and they sheened.

It didn't surprise Harry the way his body was reacting to the image the pair made. They were handsome no doubt about it. His throat had gone dry, his heart was palpitating wildly beneath his ribs, and it felt like a hippogriff was running loose around his insides. How rapidly Hermione's mission to the past had done a complete about-face.

"Kneazle got your tongue?"

Harry snapped back into reality. A scowl sliced his lips and his eyes narrowed angrily. He hated being made fun of, and if that's all they were here for then he wasn't going to stay and give them the pleasure. Besides, after what Peter had gotten out of Dumbledore, he didn't need James after all – a few more hours and the enchantment on the castle would wear off.

Picking himself up with as much grace as he could muster under a few pounds of snow, Harry patted the more persistent chunks of ice and snow from his clothes and started wordlessly in the opposite direction with a dismissive flip of his hair.

"Not so fast, Harietta!"

They both darted around him as if their feet never touched the ground and in a blur of shadow in the evening darkness reappeared a few feet in front of him, their clothes settling from the movement to the wind. They certainly had this whole creature-of-the-night thing down. Harry – hands stuffed into his pockets and his loosened scarf fluttering in the winter breeze behind him – stared back with a cool expression and carefully guarded features.

"You know—" Sirius tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear. "Some people might find it _really_ annoying how you always manage to be right."

Harry, while unable to talk, also made no move by way of expression to indicate he'd heard Sirius say anything at all. In returning the favor, Sirius didn't elaborate, but moved to another subject.

"Though," he said in an airy tone. He waved his hand. "I still think this bloody holiday is depressing as all hell..."

Harry inhaled sharply. Like the petals of a rose, the white confines of his mind peeled away and images flitted through in a series of quick wingbeat seconds. It was Sirius – but older, more haggard, with lines deeply etching his face. Something Harry couldn't see made the man laugh and though it made him appear years younger, there was still something hard and jaded in his eyes, a slight strain on the corners of his lips, and not even his laughter could erase all the lines from his skin. He was wearing a rough leather tie of bells around his neck and the room behind him was filled with red heads. He deposited the silver tinsel he'd been holding on the bushy-haired head of a precocious looking girl and turned to help a gangly boy with glasses hang a strategic piece of mistletoe over a hawk-faced woman in deep emerald robes.

Harry blinked rapidly against the illusion of James and Sirius frozen against the winter backdrop. Then a cloak flapped, glasses shone and as though his sudden slideshow of memories had only taken half a second, time resumed itself.

_Had Sirius been depressed that Christmas too?_ Harry wondered. Hermione couldn't remember. A small part of her took joy in the fact that with baby Harry out of the picture, Sirius wouldn't spend the best years of his life locked away in a damned prison. Harry took control again and shook his head – they would have to deal with the silence, because there was no way on Circe's green earth he was going to lock lips with them again.

James tried a different approach. "I'm surprised at you, Harry. Not many people turn down Padfoot here, let alone more than once."

Harry shifted his gaze to James without turning his head. Then he shrugged. He wished Peter would hurry up and come back. Harry still had half an eye on James when the shorter of the two ravenets ran a hand into his hair and snapped his fingers.

"Right then. Might as well try my own luck."

Sirius smirked and James pointed straight at Harry, making him turn in surprise.

"Are you gonna go out with me or what?"

_Of all the crude, brash_—Harry's fingers clenched then unfurled again and had there been a wall nearby he'd be banging his head against it. _What the hell am I supposed to do now_? He demanded of himself, but not knowing the answer he simply sat down in the middle of the snow.

_Why me?_ He lamented querulously. Throwing his arms rowdily outwards, Harry gave a huffy sigh and fell backwards into the bank. The thick powder around his head blocked out the sounds of James and Sirius, but he really didn't mind not knowing what they were up to. He'd already been wet and cold, but lying there with his back flush against the snow chilled him straight to the bone. He found it was a comforting feeling.

The sky was perfectly clear through the thin cloak of winter air and he could see a hundred thousand stars glittering above him framed by the jagged lines of the grounds' pine trees. A bonfire had been set up near the main staircase to warm the students waiting for the lighting ceremony to finally get underway – Harry could see the heather gray smoke spiraling upwards.

Tucking his arms up against his chest, he pressed his forearms tightly down but was unable to feel the bandages beneath the layers of wool. They were there though and he took in a desperately large breath so his chest would expand painfully and dig into the tightly-wound medical bandages. A reminder.

He didn't want to think about James, Sirius, or the Harry from _her_ memories. _Hermione_. He was sick of this pretending life that laced the events around him with lies and deception. He missed the skirts and his long hair, even if it was bushy and unmanageable. He missed bubble baths and baking cookies. He missed Ron..._and he missed Harry._

The brunet rolled face-down into the snow. The cold seeped into the fragile flesh of his cheeks and eyelids. His breaths were shallow against the snow packed down by his face. He wanted to be cold. He wanted to be Hermione again. _He wanted to go home._

Harry's eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly through snow. Fingers were in his hair, dragging parts through the curls that when wet brushed just the tops of his shoulders. He forced his hands out of their cramped position and pushed upwards. He stared wide-eyed into Sirius' gently smiling face.

"You'll tell me if I'm not doing this right?" He tucked a curl back behind Harry's ear only to have it spring back out not a moment later. "I wouldn't know how it feels, but I've watched enough movies."

"Are you alright?"

James was peering inquisitively down at him over Sirius' shoulder as the taller boy crouched down in front of Harry. James was bent over with a finger thoughtfully against his chin and his curious expression was so very childlike hovering beside Sirius' softly warm face.

Harry's eyelids fluttered slightly; involuntary. Going up onto his knees, he disentangled Sirius' fingers with fumbling hands and refused to look at either of them. Air was coming in sharply through his nose.

James sighed and straightened with both hands on his hips. "So you're not going to tell us then..."

Sirius, crouched on the balls of his feet and his elbows on his knees, smirked enough to make Harry fidget and said in a low drawl, "I could kiss it...make it all better?"

James' surprised face only got deeper when Harry issued a soft, amused laugh. Then the brunet promptly frowned. _Damnit, Sirius! Stop being funny and-and...charming._

"Aha!" Sirius looked more than pleased with himself. "You _can_ laugh."

Harry took a swing at his face, but was blocked. The hand now gripping his angrily shaking wrist pulled back and to the side and Harry was yanked flush against Sirius' chest and his world was buried in cinnamon.

When he was released, Harry was gasping for air, his fists convulsing in the thick wool of Sirius' shoulders. Head thrown back as it was, he let out a low breath and it materialized in a foggy cloud of steam above him. "You two just don't give up...do you?"

James grinned. "We _are_ Marauders, after all."

Sirius kissed his bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth; sucking, licking, nipping. The cold snow that had stabilized and grounded him, melted away and Harry was left in an inferno of feeling.

"Stop doing that," Harry demanded, pulling away an inch or so. His voice wavered as though in fear.

"Maybe I just like hearing your voice..."

Harry couldn't swallow. So James took it upon himself to execute mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and pulled the jumbled and confused Harry half up out of Sirius' lap to meet his mouth. A hot rush, like a shot of firewhiskey, slid straight down his throat and his lips burned and prickled from a thousand invisible needles.

He was drowning, so sure he was drowning – pronounced dead. But someone wouldn't give up, and, shouting "clear!", a million jolts of electricity exploded just behind his chest, forcing his lungs into action. James kissed him hard and earnestly and each time Harry felt as though his body was melting. Harsh, ragged gasps filled the air between each press of mouth on mouth, Harry's body electrified to the point of suffocation. Every kiss charged his cells to the maximum and his whole mind was deliciously buzzing.

Pain screamed beneath his fingertips as he dug them so forcefully into Sirius' robes that the nails threatened to tear and peel back and their legs were awkwardly intertwined from James' unexpected upward pull. Harry couldn't remember what the cold felt like or how white the snow looked against the deep black of his robes – it was as though he'd always been inside the inferno. Their fire was all he'd known and he'd gladly be burned alive if just for one more melting touch.

And for one _millionth_ of a second – at a singular point twenty years in the past – Harry Granger chose to _stop caring_.

Pushing off of Sirius' shoulders, he pushed back against James' mouth, catching the ravenet by surprise with a swift angling of his head. James was torn with shocked indecisiveness and Harry leaned forward after him as he half-attempted to pull away so that when their lips were finally parted, Harry was stretched languidly over Sirius' shoulder, chin tilted upwards and kiss-swollen lips tantalizingly parted.

It was all the other boy needed and without another doubt he hungrily claimed the brunet's lips. No longer needing to support him, James let a hand slide through the wet curls and the other went behind Harry's leg, lifting him to a more comfortable angle for the both of them. Once – when James was just pulling back from a kiss – a low, keening moan slipped from Harry's lips and Sirius' grip on the slimmer boy's hips tightened before disappearing on one side as he bit down on the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger to keep himself in check.

Then James sank to his knees – all the electricity drained away from him – and Harry hovered, unstably upright and staring glassily into space, before Sirius yanked him brusquely down into his lap again. The brunet looked tired as well, but just beneath the surface of his rosy skin raced the insatiable current of energy that had been passed on.

Sirius nuzzled at his lolling head, coaxing Harry to tilt back his chin and the second the lazing boy complied Sirius pounced. Looking like a damsel in the romance movies, Harry was half lying across the taller boy's lap and tilted back over Sirius' arm while being well and thoroughly snogged. Pathetically – uselessly – he wound a hand through the ravenet's cloak and was still overwhelmed in a crashing cinnamon sea.

Toes curling inside his shoes and his lungs threatening to burst, Harry wished this moment would never end. For the first time since Hermione's mission had begun, he felt truly at peace. But, no, it couldn't be described at peace; this burning, aching, melting, drowing – it was far from 'peaceful'.

For once he was _happy_...

With a shuddering, struggling display of fortitude, Harry broke off from Sirius; a long sigh billowing out in a steamy rush across the ravenet's face. Closing his eyes with a pained wince, Harry pressed his forehead to Sirius' and took in air at a reedy, gasping decibel.

"I can't promise how...how long I'll be here..." he whispered, never knowing what their reactions would have looked like. It was a desperate, last-attempt to "care" again, a strangled apology. He didn't want to look.

He was expecting something poetically romantic – some Wordsworth and Keats monologue comparing him to the beautiful lilies that returned again after the wilting frost of winter. Even one of James' crude, but touchingly accurate one-liners was on the list. What he got was one word:

"Obviously."

Harry's eyes flew open and he looked up at Sirius with the tremulous gaze of confusion Hermione swore she'd never use. Deep blue eyes crinkled in amusement and, almost in idleness, Sirius traced the swollen lines of Harry's lips.

"If you'd have made such a promise, we never would have believed you. Promises don't mean shit in war, Harietta..." he murmured in what would have been a serious tone if not for the half-smirk on his face.

_What had he done?_ Harry shook his head – if for no other reason than to deny whatever was hovering next on the tips of their tongues – and then tried to escape further by burrowing his face into the swell of wool just over Sirius' heart. With each billow of wind, his hideout's scarf would raise and flutter in the current, baring one wide, chocolate eye with a dead-on sightline to James' face. He tried closing his eyes, but it didn't help – he could feel the scarf lifting, feel the scandalous weight of James' gaze, and still he shivered at an image he could not see.

Harry sniffed delicately into Sirius' robes and – planting a kiss there – mumbled, "This is ridiculous..."

Both boys' responses were cut off, when Harry reeled back suddenly; his rapidly blinking eyes steadily watering. The anticipated sneeze was muffled by the crook of his elbow as well as the lip movements to his silent cursing, and while James turned a bemused look on a snickering Sirius, Harry crossed his arms over his shivering chest and sulked.

As the first few snowflakes drifted lazily down from his personal cursed stormcloud a cheer went up among the students still suffering out the cold as the grounds exploded with light. Hundreds of evergreens, stretching nearly as tall as the castle itself, were suddenly illuminated with charmed strands of incandescent lights and flickering pearls of restrained firelight. The golden-white light of each tree brought back dusk to the darkened winter night and cast shimmering patterns across the snow, catching in the divots of footprints and creating the illusion of glitter across the small patches of snow that remained untrampled. Across the star-strewn sky ten thousand tiny fairies soared from one end of the grounds to the other in a symphonic and brilliant migration.

And just at the edge of this breathtaking illumination – taking in the amazing display in its entirety – sat three intertwined Gryffindors as silent as the snow falling down upon them in pensive, hypnotic spirals.

* * *

"I can't believe you kissed _Snivellus_..."

* * *


	10. One More Day

**Completed:** (12/1/05) 8:47 PM  
**Posted: **(12/1/05) 9:00 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ Hermione x James x Sirius – FINALLY, albeit dysfunctionally.

_A/N: _D&C is back after an age-long hiatus! Yay! I know this is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to get something out before you all came tearing down my house. Next chapter sees Harry having a few close calls where his secret is concerned – reviews make it come faster!

And thanks to everyone who so patiently waited. I think it was definitely worth it for me to take a month off. Kisses!

* * *

Harry stared at the glimmering object in his possession shining weakly in the watery light of a winter dawn. The chain draped across his splayed fingers, he was hypnotized by the twisting turning of the hourglass made by the subtle movement of his hand. Turn. Spin. Glitter. If he stared long enough – hard enough – the pale ivory sand within took on an almost phantasmal blue tint. He could see the tiny knob from where he sat cross-legged atop his bed. It's already set to 'forward'.

It's so pretty when it's spinning really – all smooth shining curves and cascading sands. So easy too. It would cost him nothing to use, to send it spinning into magical power. Ron and Harry – he could see them, he could be their Hermione again.

Twist. Twirl. Sparkle.

Oh to see it spin again, to have the world drop in away in a blurring whiz of Technicolor. There was no reason to stay... Harry reached for it.

**BANG!**

"WAKE UP YOU LAZY GITS!"

Harry held the Time-Turner to his hammering heart, his throat dry at having very nearly dropped it. A narrowly averted disaster. He was gripping it so tightly it might break regardless and – with shapes dancing in warped shadows behind his curtains – he was forced to make it a conscious effort; unclenching, uncurling fingers.

Still in a daze he heard his name through the fog of anxiety, throbbing adrenaline, and the golden hourglass disappeared in a whisper of cloth just as the curtains were wrenched excitedly open. It was James, fresh from his own dorm – the higher octave in his tone voicing his mild shock at seeing Harry upright in bed, legs neatly folded over an already made bed.

"Come on get up! PRESENTS!"

Harry blinked, almost dumbly, at him still trying to shake the ringing from his ears and to dispel the demanding, tantalizing weight of the Time Turner against his chest.

"Don't you get presents where you're from?" Peter asked rather densely, his round face appearing in the triangle made by James' arm with a fist on his hip.

"Of course." He found his voice, unwinding from atop the bed. Peter had already moved on with a shrug, but James was there still, still looking at him. His glasses had been put on in haste and they balanced on his nose with as much defiance as the rowdy tangle of hair atop his head, matching the engrained image in Harry's head, the cemented feeling that was only just and still everything at all that was – poignantly – _James_.

Hermione was never meant to have such an all encompassing "feel" of James Potter embossed behind the backs of her eyes.

Like a match flaring to life the Time Turner burned white-hot beneath the cotton of his shirt. His coming breath went in sharply and he froze, feeling the steaming weight of the hourglass through the tightly woven threads and heavy layers of cloth that bound Hermione's breasts.

But James was looking at Harry in a way that made the skin along the backs of his knuckles tingle. It was concern – he could see it resting in his hazel eyes and the uncertain stance within the hangings of his bed – but it was more, more enough that it caused a knot of air and anxiety to form in his throat. So personal and centralized in its intensity, James was looking with eyes only for him and Harry was unprepared for the unfamiliar feelings it beckoned up from someplace deeper than his chest, somewhere in the tips of his toes.

Hermione dared to preserve the memory of that look deep inside her withdrawn consciousness. And Harry risked it all; deciding that to stay just one more day would not horribly alter the future.

At that moment, the scalding touch of metal died away and a cool, cloaking feeling – icy rivers moving from his chest out through his veins – overtook him. He could breathe again without choking on the thick ball of oxygen, though his chilled lungs rattled slightly beneath his ribs.

"Do you always make it a habit of invading other students' privacy?" Harry felt the words leave his mouth, but they sounded far away and thin. "If so, it's easier to see why you were given a room of your own."

A cheeky half-smile cracked James' sleep-dried lips. His voice was easy and filled with an extra weight of smug pride. "Now ya know why we can't get up the girls' stairs."

Harry smiled back, and to his own lips the wide, beaming grin felt alien; though, unexplainably _right_ in its unfamiliarity.

Yes. He would stay just one more day...

* * *

Everyone was gathered around the tree in the common room – everyone at least that stayed behind for the holidays – and the boys were eagerly dividing up their gifts into monstrous piles, while Lily shook her head but stuck with the other seventh years who waited until the boys were finished before circling around the remaining parcels in a pack of vibrantly colored nightdresses and bathrobes.

Harry is the last one down the dormitory steps and by then his presents have already been pushed into their own pile beneath the tree and out of the way of Sirius' almost violent paper shredding. He smiles, but chooses to remain silent as he sits down Indian style beside his pile. Pine needles are poking him through his t-shirt, but if this is to be his last day in the past then he wants to soak in as much of it as he can.

Remus is peacefully ensconced in a semi-circle of new books – Peter quibbling to the oblivious prefect about how wrapping paper was meant to be torn not folded as he fiddles with a stack of cards from the chocolate frog boxes, Sirius is snickering over a love note attached to an admirer's gift, and James has fashioned himself a pirate's hat out of flamboyant magenta wrapping paper.

"You gonna open those or what?" James demanded, cutting into his daze.

Harry blinked at him in surprise and then looked down at the pile beside him. "Oh, I suppose..." After everything, Yule didn't seem that big of a deal anymore.

"You sure do got a lot," said Peter, blissfully chomping on chocolate and Sugar Quills and shuffling over on his knees. A parcel wrapped in plain brown was tucked under his arm. Harry looked at his pile again.

"Yeah..." he murmured and couldn't stop from prodding the substantial stack. "Wonder who sent them."

"Whadaya mean 'who sent them'?" Sirius exclaimed laughing. "Family, friends from back home."

Harry looked away, but didn't bother correcting the boy. He hadn't exactly told anyone his reasons for "transferring" to Hogwarts, but now that his time here was over he'd let them draw their own conclusions. "Hmm" was all he said picking up the topmost present in Gryffindor red. It was from Peter.

Since he knew well enough that Marauders couldn't be trusted, Harry'd arranged during the Hogsmeade trip for their Yule gifts to be delivered the day of (for a nominal fee, of course). Remus had already opened his – a snow globe depicting a cozy cabin in a sea of evergreens charmed so that the sun was always shining and a tiny spiral of smoke appeared periodically out the chimney. Instead of snowing when you shook it, the globe emitted bird and woodland sounds as well as the rich scent of pine.

He couldn't tell if James had opened his yet or not, but Sirius was making his way towards a smaller bundle of packages now after dealing with his "fan mail", and Peter was tearing open the brown package stuffed in his lap. It was always weird seeing people open the gifts you've given them so Harry turned to his own pile.

Peter had gotten him a planner and schedule set for tutoring next term. A photo album from Remus had the first page filled with ridiculous portraits of the four Marauders. James had gotten him a bag of Bertie Botts; Sirius, two cases of Butterbeer. Any further forays into the land of gifts were put on hold by that same Sirius squealing in girlish delight and hoisting a large black something out into the air.

"Wicked!" He exclaimed and Harry worried James might have a new rival with the look of pure adoration Sirius was giving his shiny, new bike helmet.

"Put it on then!" Peter encouraged and Sirius readily obliged. He shoved the helmet over a mass of hair, nearly taking off his nose in the process, and the behemoth settled around his shoulders. Bright blue eyes peered out from the opened visor slot.

Sirius Black stood up pompously in the middle of the common room in his rumpled pajamas, hair jutting out all over and a great black helmet on his head and proudly proclaimed, "I am so rad." The visor fell shut.

"_Why_, Harry?" Remus lamented. "You've gone and encouraged him."

Harry smiled slightly in apology and eyed his remaining gifts distrustfully. Who were they from? He picked the first one up and turned it over in his hands.

"No, no, no!" Sirius was telling James. "I could be in movies, I tell ya! Motorcycle cop by day, undercover spy by night."

"Don't forget to take off the helmet," James advised. "The other spies might cotton on."

Sirius smacked him. Leaping onto an armchair – and nearly missing it all together with his distorted seeing – Sirius wobbled his way onto the back and proceeded to "drive" it with all the requisite sound effects and pantomimed motions. Harry shook his head at the sight, but it was so instinctively _Sirius_ that he soaked up the scene along with all the others. It was a shame he wouldn't be able to fill up the rest of Remus' photobook.

Realizing that the others had finished their own unwrapping and were now casting curious glances in his direction, Harry hurried to finish, furtively peering at the suspicious packages as they were opened. The first was innocent enough – a new eagle quill from McGonagall with a short note to enjoy the holidays – and at least Harry had thought it was innocent. Sirius was sobbing loudly inside his helmet and dramatically throwing himself about the room.

"Pookums _never_ sends _me_ gifts!" He was heard repeating while he flailed about.

The next few boxes held nothing but confusion – a gaudy gold chain, heart-shaped candies, a new money bag, and a blue patterned scarf; all but the last one were without cards or notes. A tag had been fastened to the scarf imprinted with a sugar pink lipstick kiss and something about the astronomy tower; it was snatched from him before he could finish reading it himself much less hide it.

"Who's 'Ashley'?" Remus asked with teasing smile. Harry's gaze went over the brunet's shoulder to James, who was frowning. Last night's stolen kisses and heated touches were suddenly too close a memory and Harry flushed.

"I honestly have no idea!" He insisted, before realizing that he was speaking to James alone. His eyes darted away and fell on Sirius instead. The visor had fallen down again and so his expression was anyone's guess. "I don't even know any Ashleys."

"It says your name," Peter told him, pointing to the card. He grinned. "Are you really going to meet her on the astronomy tower at midnight?"

Harry's face flamed. "Oh, shut up, Peter," he mumbled and stuffed the letter in with his gifts.

"I didn't even know you _had_ admirers" – and suddenly Sirius was sitting with legs akimbo in front of him. He'd pushed the visor up again, but it kept falling. Down. Up. Down. Up. It was _very_ distracting.

"Don't be daft, Sirius," Harry said stoutly. "They're just being friendly."

"Mmm," he grunted with dramatic eye movements. "Whatever you say, Harietta."

Harietta..._oh, God!_ Those poor girls! What would they think when they found out Harry wasn't really Harry but _Hermione_, a _girl_ – oh, they'd be so embarrassed. Really, Harry didn't know what to do so he just stacked the gifts beside those from the Marauders and reached for the last box, which looked like it had been store wrapped.

While the other boys argued over the secret innuendos of a scarf, Harry peeled back the shiny paper and lifted free a book bound with dragon-hide. There was no note, save for his own name scrawled on a slip of paper tucked within the pages. He flipped back to the front to read the title, his brow puckering and a thoughtful line shaping his mouth. _Magical Anomalies: Theory and Research._ How odd.

He'd just curled up to read the first chapter when the Marauders realized he'd finished and swarmed over him like a litter of puppies.

"The only thing better than Hogsmeade Day," Sirius proclaimed. "Is _Christmas_ Day! We _can't_ miss brekkers."

And so Harry was wrangled by the arm and dragged down to the Great Hall in his pajamas, the odd procession led by a pantomiming Sirius still wearing his helmet.

* * *

"Harry, put that book away – it's Christmas!"

"But James, it's actually really interesting—"

"More interesting than me?"

"..."

"Put the damn book away."

* * *

"You alright, Harietta?"

"Sirius!"

"You look a little flushed."

"I'm f-fine. Really. It's just a little hot in here."

"Then let's...go outside..."

* * *

"Where've you been all day? Look, I wanted to show you something..."

"R-Remus – I...I gotta go!"

"Harry?"

* * *

It wasn't until ten o'clock that Harry finally got a moment to himself, having narrowly escaped Sirius and James and sequestered himself in the classroom that housed his potion's experiment. He'd already caught sight of his reflection on the way there – hair tousled, clothing mussed, his mouth looking like he'd just eaten a box of strawberries. He felt like the entire day had been a wild hippogriff ride that was only now starting to wind down again. His heart was still beating a little too fast.

_James and Sirius. James and Sirius and me_...

A big doofy grin plastered his face in drunken giddiness and if anyone were to walk in the door now they surely wouldn't recognize him. Harry Granger was mostly resigned to blank looks or disapproving frowns with the occasional quirk of lips that might be considered a smile. But here he was acting like Ginny, or worse..._Lavender_.

Just for the reassurance that he was indeed _not_ turning into that harpy, Harry spent ten minutes checking their accumulating store of potion ingredients and resetting the spells that had started mounting up when their stock spread out to adjoining shelves and dusty cupboards. The room could have used a good cleaning, but his conscientiousness had deserted him and he collapsed in a pathetically happy heap on the nearest chair.

Something cold brushed his chest and in the following shock he wondered how he hadn't remembered the Time Turner was still there; not even when he'd changed out of his night clothes. Awkwardly reaching beneath his shirt collar he snagged the golden chain with a finger and spilled the charm out into his hands. The small hour glass glinted up at him; a smooth winking eye, but somehow it didn't hold the same captivation it had this morning. His thumb skated across the metallic rings before tucking it back under his shirt.

After all...it couldn't hurt to stay just one more day, could it?

* * *

That 'one day' turned into another and another, and then into a week, a month, and soon January had completely flown by and February was just as rapidly slipping away. His brief encounters with James and Sirius grew longer, more intense, more frequent until he scarcely had time with tutoring to get his homework finished. He rolled into bed every night well past midnight and was up by six to work on the research project.

He had no time to think about the Time Turner now stashed deep within his trunk, nor to agonize over his current situation and its affect on the future; time, which he'd so naively thought had been under his grasp, was now steamrolling him flat and would no longer listen to his suggestions. Time, it seemed, had its own plans for "Harry Granger" and the only time the thought of it ever entered his mind was when his eyes ached from reading and the candles had long extinguished themselves and he, in his exhausted state, could not figure out where all his time had gone. He didn't much care about it when Sirius was pressing him against the wall of the third floor corridor, or when James trapped him in the kitchens' storeroom after hours for a quick snog.

He should have known thathis happinesscouldn't have lasted...


	11. The Caper: Part I

**Completed:** (1/25/06) 9:35 PM  
**Posted: **(1/26/06) 8:58 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ Hermione x James x Sirius

_A/N:_ SORRY! I was loaded down with scholarships, and it's my senior year, and that's all I'm gonna say. Part II should hopefully be up by Sunday night/Monday morning.

And YES! To all of you fans out there. I _will_ be finishing this story. I won't let it die, I swear.

* * *

"Stop! You're stirring the wrong—"

**BOOM!**

"...way."

Harry, along with half the Potions room was covered in a foul-smelling pink goop. Very slowly, he reached up and cleared two peach circles over his eyes. The third year he'd been tutoring cowered meekly behind his charred cauldron, potion dripping from his bangs in viscous strings.

"Okay," Harry said calmly. "Let's learn from this. What did we do wrong?"

The boy bit his lip, looking anywhere but at Harry. "Um...I stirred, well...I stirred it wrong."

"And what should you have done?"

"Uh...done it the, um...other way?" The questioning lilt at the end of his statement made it discreetly clear that the poor boy didn't know what he should have done. His guess hadn't been all that knowledgeable to begin with.

The potion was starting to harden and while the third year was now surreptitiously trying to free his wand from a goop-filled pocket without looking unattentive, Harry's attention was still on the boy; radiating stoicism even while looking as though he'd just walked through a giant bubble of chewing gum.

"This is an Anti-Theft potion – meaning it's _countering_ burglary, right? Just remember this little phrase: 'counter potion, counterclockwise'."

When no reprimand or screaming profanities followed and he was not bodily thrown from the destroyed classroom, the boy stood a little straighter and a shy, hesitant smile started forming on his face. "T-Thanks."

Harry smiled and turned around. "Who wants to try next?"

The rest of the students he was tutoring stared back at him from their scattered desks, pink from head to toe. Someone shifted and their shoe squelched wetly.

His smile didn't falter. "Anyone?"

**BANG!**

The hodge-podge of assembled students jumped – with the exception of Harry, who turned serenely to the door as it reverberated shut again behind the new arrival. It was Snape.

"We thought you might be ill," explained Harry. "So we started without you."

Snape glowered at his partner and, with a wave of his wand, restored him to rights and to looking at least somewhat more presentable. Harry was, after all, a _Gryffindor_.

"What are you babbling about, Granger?"

Harry pointed to the wall clock; a quarter-sized splatter of pink obscured the 'five'. "You're nearly an hour late."

"Ridiculous!" he snapped, without looking. "I'm never late. You were merely rude enough to begin early."

A group of Ravenclaw girls started whispering to each other in the back of the room; however, Harry, on the other hand, was nonplussed by Snape's accusation. With a simple swishing flick he'd restored the room to its previous state, before the unfortunate cauldron explosion. The younger students looked around in awe, some even checking their pockets and desks for residual smatterings of pink.

"Are you sure, Severus?"

"Am I sure that I can read a clock?" His tone was scathing. "Why yes, Granger."

Harry nodded, rolling his wand between his fingers idly. "Of course, of course," he amended apologetically. "I only meant that...well, would all of these students skip dinner for a _Potions lesson_?"

Snape looked from Harry's patiently smiling face to the slightly frightened expressions of about a dozen and a half students. Then his eyes finally darted up to the clock. His annoyed look melted into a dark scowl when he realized he'd been tricked.

"_Potter_," he snarled.

Harry frowned as well, a thoughtful finger going to his chin. "This is getting ridiculous," he sighed. "I can't tutor like this."

Tapping his wand absently against the gooey cauldron, Harry addressed Snape. "If you didn't have to be here right now...what would you be doing?"

"I'd find those imbecilic friends of yours and—"

"And what?" Harry asked, as if inquiring as to whether his ginger root should be sliced or crushed. "What will you do to them?"

Snape's fists convulsed. "_I'll_ _kill them_."

Harry shook his head – maybe at the unoriginality, or maybe at the dramatics – but lifted his wand. "Well, fair's fair, I suppose."

Snape was giving him a suspicious look, until the brunet waved his wand expertly and said in a clear voice, "_Accio Invisibility Cloak!_"

The shimmering mass of cloth flew into his outstretched hand and in the back corner of the room Sirius Black and James Potter had suddenly appeared – as if by magic – still hunched over slightly so they'd fit beneath the cloak. The students erupted in laughter and high-pitched chattering while the two Marauders looked at one another and then at Harry in horror.

Neatly folding the purloined cloak over his arm, Harry turned to Snape. "Class dismissed."

Snape looked like Christmas had come around again. The class scattered in a flurry of scrapping chairs and banging desks, a Hufflepuff boy squeaking in alarm when Snape drew his wand with a devious flourish and advanced on James and Sirius. They'd both drawn their wands as well and were trying to edge around the mass of tables and chairs while Snape merely levitated anything out of his way.

"Come on, Snivellus," James cajoled. "Just a joke, ya know..."

The Slytherin prefect snarled and the chair he'd been levitating spun off and hit the wall over James' head. The Head Boy gave a shout and ducked out of the way of falling shrapnel.

"Really," Sirius wheedled. He flashed a charming smile while sneaking around another table. "Must we resort to violence?"

The desk nearest him opened its lid in a wide snarl – broken quill tips abandoned inside it forming vicious teeth along the rim – and tried, almost successfully, to take a bite out of the Gryffindor.

"I reckon we must, mate!" said James. He started pushing Sirius towards the door. Bits of splintered wood were stuck in his hair.

"Let's leave him to it then, Prongsie-boy." Sirius suggested.

"Yes. Let's."

The end of Severus' incantation was cut off by a roar of laughter from the students who'd gathered on the other end of the class room. Two bright jets of flame shot out of the end of his wand and alighted on the robes of the Marauders. Harry just shook his head at their idiocy – trying to beat out the flames while their wands sat forgotten in their pockets. Were they wizards or weren't they?

With their bottoms still smoldering, the two Gryffindors bolted for their door with a raging Snape right behind them. The crowded students were slightly disappointed with the lackluster exit, until Sirius' head popped back in through the doorway startling Snape into stumbling backwards into a desk. Laughter abounded and there was no environment better for the proud Black to flourish in.

Saluting jauntily, Sirius grinned at the fuming Snape trying to disentangle himself from a chair and taunted, "Catch us if ya can!"

Harry sighed again, watching the three seventh years go tearing down the hall, but released the class to go and watch the havoc at their leisure, only calling out a reminder as the last giggling first year slipped out the door.

"Fourth years! Don't forget your essay drafts next time if you want them checked over and, oh! Drats..." They'd gone.

Gathering up his things and cleaning the classroom's cauldron, Harry followed them all out after turning out the lights and locking up the room behind him. To his right he could hear the sounds of laughter and rebounding spells and though it should have deepened his frown at the lawlessness of it, Harry couldn't help but smile a little as he started off in the opposite direction, book in hand and the library in mind.

* * *

The morning's amusement turned out to be the day's only saving point for only a few minutes after he'd settled in to read – "nested" as Peter called it – he developed the most god-awful headache. It throbbed just beneath the skin of his forehead and made his hairline itch furiously. He scratched, his curls tangled, and he tried to focus on _Magical Anomalies_. But the night before he'd reached the section on the empirical arithmetic values for Space and, while it was quite intriguing – he having read the book through once already – it was an in depth subject with many long and complicated sentences that several times he had to read twice over before they formed a coherent thought in his pounding mind.

To his credit, he persisted in this agonizing pursuit for an hour before his mistreated body cried bloody murder and he gave up trying to enjoy magiphysics. Tucking his book back under his arm, he decided that the most efficient thing to do would be to beg a Headache Potion off of Madame Pomfrey; thus ensuring that the rest of his evening would be substantially more productive than if he had to work through pain and spotted vision.

He set off towards the Infirmary with his usual brisk pace which almost immediately warranted correcting. The efficient cadence of his shoes against stone was now a debilitating hammer cleaving his agonized mind in two. A shoe hammer it was. And he very much wished for it to never be repeated again so he settled for an ungainly shuffle which every few steps developed a hop-skip because Subconscious and Anxious Harry wanted to get to the Infirmary _now._

He honestly didn't know what he'd done to incur such an unmitigated, yet powerful, dosage of pain. Surely it wasn't karmic retribution for loosing Snape on those two bumbling fools. If he's told them once, he's told them enough times to justify drastic action – his potions lessons were off-limits to tampering, ogling, harassing, or mischief-making. Not to mention their blatant disregard of Harry's wishes on the "Snape Matter". Not that he fancied it before, but especially now that he and Snape were to be working together, he'd really rather not have to listen to tirades from either side of _either_ side's stupidity and/or childish traumatization when all _he_ wanted was just to get some work done.

_Damnit._ Now he'd gone and made it worse by thinking. The very neurons that sparked his deductive reasoning seemed to be sadistically linked to the sensors that were causing him such excruciating pain. Really, that seemed hardly fair. How was he suppose to properly analyze the affect of the shoe hammer if – ow! OW!

Thoroughly browbeaten into ceasing his higher levels of cognition, Harry – grudgingly – allowed the softened creators of the shoe hammers to guide him to his destination. One might call it "auto-pilot"; Harry called it laziness. He liked to think about where he was going, thank you very much. Followed by why, how, with whom, and with what priority. He liked to be precise.

It was while he was in this state – wallowing in the slothful unawareness that James and Sirius must live in every second of the day, and generally doing a horrible job of finding the Infirmary without the usual guidance of his, ahem, "precise" mind – that the truly horrid beginning of his problems, well, _began_.

"My kingdom for an advil..."

"What are you mumbling about, Granger?"

_Piss off._ Harry smiled sweetly; though, what he thought was polite and friendly was actually rather creepy and deranged looking with him slumped against the wall as he was, his pale head lolling on his shoulders. Just so it's said, he looked frightfully worse than his symptoms would indicate. He doubted, however, that Snape – for it was he who had so acerbically interrupted Harry's hopeless corridor meanderings – really cared much about a _Gryffindor's_ state of affairs.

Frankly, Harry'd been surprised that Snape was willing to tutor with him, much less come within ten feet of him after that horrific kissing fiasco at Yule. He was sure, somewhere subconsciously, that he'd been traumatized for life.

"Oh nothing," he said. "Just mumbling under my breath about the utterly wretched Powers-That-Be who decided that this mind-splitting pain was anything worth having..."

Snape said nothing to this; he probably deemed the babbling beneath his realm of response. He did – to give him credit – finally speak, but only long enough to summarize the brunet's soliloquy for anyone else who might have stopped and overhead. "You have a headache."

Well, it didn't sound quite so dramatic when he said it like _that_. Harry thought it needed more drama. He was then promptly rewarded with another throb of pain for his efforts in to the extent of being "thoughtful", no matter how petulant.

"How very astute of you."

Snape glowered, but didn't continue onwards and Harry would have wondered about that if he hadn't found how soothing it was to close his eyes. He cracked them open again at the clearing of a throat.

"What?"

"Hmm," Snape looked aside, then back – but they seemed darker than before. "While your decorum is totally unappreciative, I figured this would be the opportunity to, well..." he cleared his throat again. "I've a batch of headache potion in the common room."

Harry blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You gave away Potter and his sidekick."

It took Harry a few seconds to connect the fragmented bits of their conversation. When he did, all he could say was, "Oh."

"I do not enjoy bartering favors. Take the potion and we'll be done."

Harry felt like an idiot as he blinked again; and though it took a marginal amount of pain to do so he reasoned out that Snape felt somehow indebted to him – for letting him revenge himself, if even a small bit. He ought not to – it had been just as rewarding experience for himself as it had been for the Slytherin. Sometimes the two boys just needed to be beat all to hell before they'd see reason.

"It was...my pleasure," he intoned truthfully. His eyes shuttered sporadically, desiring to be closed against the glare of light that shot straight into the throbbing core of his headache. "But if you'd be so helpful as to point me in the direction of the Hospital Wing, I'd be more than happy to absolve your unsettling delusion of debt."

"Damnit, Granger – just take the damn potion."

"What's the difference!" The brunet quipped back; their rising voices prompting him to cover his ears.

Snape sneered. "Well mine tastes a sight better than that old cow's. I can put it in Pumpkin Juice if you're that much of a Hufflepuff."

"Pumpkin Juice?" Harry knew all to well the ghastly taste of Madame Pomfrey's potions. And while he wouldn't go so far as to call her an 'old cow', he _had_ noticed that while it made no difference to many of the potions if flavor was added, she didn't seem to care much if her patients liked her medicine, just as long as they drank it. The epitome of 'tough love'.

Harry looked up at Snape, his headache pounding in the empty space just behind his eyes, and found no obvious deceit in his gaze, no matter how darkly his obsidian eyes gleamed. He swallowed and managed a small, grateful smile.

"That would be..._wonderful_..."

* * *

The horridness was, er, deceptively veiled by consideration.

He'd waited outside the Slytherin Common Room while Snape fetched the potion from his dormitory, then assured Snape that his headache was indeed abating after drinking it. When Snape excused himself to go and check on their now-simmering potion in the abandoned classroom, Harry – having nothing else in mind to do – offered to walk with him.

"So, did you catch them?" The ground passed slowly beneath Harry's feet.

Snape frowned. "I could not keep hold of them as long as I would have liked..."

Harry chuckled. "I bet I'll be seeing your handiwork soon enough, anyhow." Snape actually smirked and turned his face downwards to his, before looking down the hall.

"Not my best work," he deadpanned. He fidgeted slightly with the cuffs of his uniform, the tip of his wand flashing out against the pale white of his wrist before disappearing again. "I was rushed."

"Oh, _of course_." Harry actually had to fight back a laugh, which was something he hadn't expected. "No one's going to think any less of you. I'm sure you did as much damage as you could."

"Those two weasels think _I'm_ the slimy one." He scoffed. "They're just lucky that squirrel Pettrigrew showed up – slipped right out of my fingers."

Harry's lips quirked. "Say what you will about James and Sirius -- they're both a load of hippogriff dung – but I _am_ going to have to draw the line at Peter."

Snape stopped walking, and while Harry slowed down, he looked back over his shoulder. "Really..." He sounded bemused.

His face felt tight, and it was like the muscles holding up his smile had atrophied, gone numb. It was still on his face – small and soft – but it was flat now; like the fizz had gone out of his candy pop. "Really."

"Well," Snape started up again. "I wouldn't fancy being on the receiving end of your wand, should I cross you and yours."

Harry let him match pace with him, seeing the nearing doorway of their storeroom. "See that you don't then."

Snape swiveled on the spot, walking the last few paces to the door backwards and meeting Harry's blankly amused face with a serious one of his own. He steepled his fingers together and tapped them thoughtfully against his chin. "But Potter and Black..."

"Still free game?" Harry laughed. "Oh, most definitely."

* * *

They stood talking a few minutes longer, exchange sundry words – bits and pieces of conversation, nothing lasting. Neither of them were much for talking, and though they had hardly much in common, it wasn't too awkward a time spent talking on classes and arithmetic sequences that might hinder their potion research. It was the arrival of two very unexpected guests – precipitated by needless shouting – that quickly ended their conversing.

"HARIETTA!"

The brunet winced and glanced quickly over his shoulder. "I, uh, better go..."

"Going to undo all my work?"

Harry saluted him with the book he'd kept tucked under his arm all that time. "Wouldn't even think it. I'm just gonna sit back and have a good laugh."

"You will, once you see them." Snape looked deeply pleased with himself.

"_HARIEEEEEEEEEEEEEETTA!_"

"I really should—" The Slytherin nodded, a dismissal of sorts, and Harry started jogging off towards the voices. Before he rounded the corner, he spun back around and gave a stunted sort of wave. "Thanks for the potion—" but Snape was already slipping into the classroom door, closing it behind him so quickly he nearly caught his robe hem on the frame. Harry was left staring at empty space.

"Oi!" A hand settled on his shoulder, turning him around. "We needs a word with you."

Harry burst out laughing. He _never_ laughed. So it was more than disconcerting when the stoic young boy burst into laughter so heartily that tears sprung from his eyes and started rolling down his cheeks by the time he'd tried to cut them off; hunched over and trying not to look. Snape had certainly done a number on them.

James' hair was a blinding, horrific shade of yellow – sticking up in thick gooey clumps so atrocious, that Harry had a whole new appreciation for his hair's usual disorder. He was holding a washcloth around his throat like a sodden scarf, and it wasn't until he tried to talk to him, that the brunet realized the watered rag was covering a recently acquired set of gills.

He tried to say something like his name but it came out in a squawking garble and he lurched forward, favoring his left leg. So it was clear that it had been Sirius who'd been doing the bellowing and Harry knew at least that nothing had damaged his vocal cords, but that was all he was prepared for when the second half of the duo appeared beside the first.

Sirius' face – his secondary pride and joy next to his hair – was bubbled all up underneath the skin, great knobby bumps making his head look like a sheet of bubble rap. His nose was stretched out like a carrot – ridged and gobliny – over which his perfect bangs had been seared up to his hairline. He was walking a bit oddly too – more like shambling – and Harry could see with one quick glance that it was due to the large tail that had grown from the bottom of his spine. It was reptilian and iridescent blue – probably draconic.

"Harry!" Sirius exploded. "Look at my face!"

"I _am_ looking," Harry laughed, snorting into his hand.

Sirius' hands went immediately to covering his face. "Aw, stuff it."

"He sure did do a number on you two."

James gargled and Sirius agreed. "Yeah – this is _your_ fault!"

Harry waggled a finger at him; his mirth being taken over by a strain of solemnity no matter how amused his smiled seemed. "Uh uh. You aren't blaming this muck up on me. I told you not to interfere with my tutoring; I _told _you to stop bothering Snape—"

"—he had it coming!" Sirius's tail was swishing wildly behind him and it defeated the purpose of his anger by making Harry snicker.

"_And_," the brunet reproached, holding up a finger. "I told you to stop following me."

"Oh, well now, _that_ we can't stop."

He was given a very lewd expression by Sirius, but on his goblin face it just looked repulsive. James gurgled at him and reached out with his free hand, a smacking pair of fish lips joining the gills. Harry nearly squealed trying to evade James' grasp and in the end he had to smack away his reaching hands with his book, laughing as he danced back just out of reach.

"Oh, no. There's no way I'm kissing either of you looking like that," he chuckled. "Remus might be able to restore you to rights, but sure as hellfire am I not going to help him. You two can undo this yourselves."

Sirius gaped and James kicked at the tail that kept swatting against his bad leg. "Come on, Harry!"

The brunet just smiled in response and walked away. With a saluting wave over his shoulder and a parting jab, he disappeared up the Grand Staircase.

"A little punishment will do you two a world of good..."

* * *

As the world darkened outside, so did Harry's mood; erasing all earlier joviality. Severus' potion maintained, and when he recovered from his irritable mood Harry would surely thank his expert skills, but for now the splitting, tearing pain had moved from his head to his stomach. If he'd eaten anything substantial at all that day, he'd feel justified in accusing the house of elves of poisoning him, but things being as they were, the source of his illness was unknown.

As when anyone is sick, even the calm and soft-spoken Harry Granger became snappish and curt, either utterly ignoring anyone who paused by him to talk or dismissing them firmly above pained moans. So, when the Marauders returned sometime around ten it was to a pale-faced Harry, curled up miserably on the couch of an empty common room.

"What the devil, Granger?" James grunted – now aesthetically de-fished.

"Go away..."

"No need to be such an ass," Peter teased. It was a testament to their friendship that Harry only gestured rudely at him instead of hexing him where he stood. It was also true that Peter's moments of brashness were fleeting and short. When he spoke again, sitting on the couch by Harry's bent legs, it was quieter, less provoking. "You, uh, don't look too good."

"I don't _feel_ too good." Harry curled himself tighter around the throw pillow he'd stuffed into his arms and the movement caused him to make a small noise of discomfort.

"Best to just suck it up, you know – be a man," said Sirius. Then, to prove his point, he sat down heavily on Harry's curved side, arms crossed and looking smug.

Harry's voice came out strained from underneath the other boy's weight. "If you don't get off I am going to _throw up_."

Sirius jumped up like an Exploding Snap card had been set off under his arse, and he backed up a several paces behind James until he was sure that he was well out of range should any projectile vomiting occur. Harry groaned into the couch.

"Have you gone to Madame Pomfrey yet?" Remus asked in the kind manner he had. "A Pepper-Up ought to do the trick."

"Can't," Harry said, looking back out. His eyes looked puffy. "Eh, can't mix it...with the, hnn, headache potion from Severus," he said while trying to painlessly resituate his pillow.

James _exploded_.

"WHAT!"

Sirius followed.

"_WHAT!_"

"Do you have a death wish, Granger?" James all but yelled. Several first years scurried for the dorms.

"No, but _you_ seem to. The next time you disrupt my tutoring class I'll set the whole Slytherin house on you!" The whole common room stared at Harry. He _never_ yelled, much less at _James_. The brunet rubbed at his throat with a pathetic "ow" and collapsed back against the pillows looking paler and more drained than when the Marauders had first arrived. "Go away," he mumbled, despondently. "I'm sick..."

"Fine." James didn't look at him. He hadn't liked the affect Harry's words had had on him. "We just needed a lookout is all."

_Lookout_. Harry's teeth clenched automatically at James' brush off. Sure, he was good enough to drag off and snog at all hours of the day, but when Harry made him look bad in front of his "followers", he was deemed a last-resort lookout. Before he'd even realized he was doing it, Harry was on his feet.

"_Fine_." He answered back, curtly. "I'm going with you."

In the back of his mind he remembered _Hermione_ and a _stone_ and a vaguely similar situation. Maybe he hadn't changed as much as he thought. Maybe he was still that happy young bookworm deep inside.

_Maybe it was time to go home_.

"If you're sick—" Peter started.

"No," Harry refuted. He looked squarely at James. "I'm feeling _much _better now, thanks."

His stomach gave a disagreeing flip-flop.

"So, where are we going?"

"Filch's office," Remus answered.

"Not vandalizing, I hope...?" Harry made it a question.

"Not at all." Sirius was a little less moody than James, and though he wasn't all that happy with the little spat going on between the three of them, he gave him a small, reassuring smile. Harry felt better for it.

"Ah. Stealing then, is it?"

"He stole it from us first!" Peter defended stoutly.

"Stole it from _you_, you mean," James corrected and the shorter boy made a face at his back.

Harry smiled. Just a little. "What did Filch steal?"

Remus, who was pulling the silvery folds of the invisibility cloak out of his bag, grinned at him, and Harry experienced an unexplainable pang of foreboding.

"A _map_."

* * *


	12. The Caper: Part II

**Completed:** (3/4/06) 11:03 PM  
**Posted: **(3/4/06) 11:10 PM.

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _Nearing the end. Enter the map.

* * *

"—anyone in the school. No cloak or potion can fool it!"

Harry tried not to throw up. "That's..._amazing_..."

"Isn't it, though?" Peter chattered excitedly. His squeaky voice was going right into Harry's ear, but that was hard to correct with the three of them scrunched under the cloak as they were. Sirius was the other. Being Prefect and Head Boy, respectively, Remus and James were free to walk outright in the hall under the pretext of 'patrolling the halls', should any teacher roaming the school appear.

Harry struggled to find his words while he racked his brain for something, _anything_ to say or do to stop the fate they were heading towards. "That must have been a lot of charm work."

Peter made an odd noise; it's meaning uncertain. "Yeah, I guess. James did most of that. I think there was some transfiguration to it too. Eh? Sirius?"

"Finally," the ravenet muttered. "Charms get all the credit."

He shifted his head a little to look back at Harry. When they passed beneath a wall torch, Harry's vision was flashed with a wry grin and bright blue eyes. "Without me, all James would've had was a pretty piece of paper."

"And without Remus everything would've been spelled wrong," Peter snickered. Their talking was making the air beneath the cloak damp and warm. Harry wrinkled his nose at both the feeling and the opaque wording.

"'Spelled' as in...magically? Or grammatically?"

"Both."

Peter jumped in surprise and Harry and Sirius both let out annoyed yelps as he came back down on their feet. Remus was laughing at the bumbling trio, somehow managing to look directly at them despite the cloak.

"Geez, Moony!" Sirius griped. "Ya shouldn't be listening in on other blokes' conversations."

Remus snorted. "I tried," he said. "But you three are as loud as mandrakes over there. And someone's trainer's been sticking out."

"Sorry," Peter mumbled hastily, and the offending shoe disappeared under the cloak.

James stopped beside Remus, and with him stopped the whole procession. No longer having the trainer as a reference point, he ended up glaring at some point just over Sirius' shoulder. "You gobshites are going to get us caught – you can't even be stealthy with a bloody invisibility cloak on!"

"Geez, Jamsie," Sirius muttered. "We're trying to be sneaky; keep it down, will ya?"

James scowled, this time at Peter's right knee. "I'm going to cut off all your hair while you're sleeping," he threatened.

"Oy!" Sirius exclaimed. "They'll have your badge for that!"

"You can shove my badge right up your—"

"Hey, now!"

It was an opportunity Harry couldn't let pass. "Maybe we just ought to go back?"

Sirius turned around under the cloak to gape at him in mock horror. "What, and miss out on this thrilling bout of knavery?"

"Did you just say '_knavery_'?"

"Yes, Remus, I do have more than a ten word vocabulary; try not to faint."

"Smashing." The prefect sighed. "I'm back to being the woman now, am I?"

"You're pouting right now," Sirius said. "You big womanly pouter you."

The brunet looked affronted and his wiry arms crossed over his chest. The elbows had patches on them, devotedly hand sewn. "I am not. I'll have you know, _this_—" here he gestured at his face "—is a look of _masculine displeasure_."

Sirius made an odd face under the cloak and Peter snickered. "Also known as 'pouting'."

"Shut up."

"I bet I can guess what you're thinking right now," boasted Sirius. He nudged Harry with his elbow, but the brunet was trapped outside the bubble of their lightheartedness. He had to stop them from finding that map.

"I can tell you right now," Remus answered. "It involves you, the giant squid, and an untimely death."

"No, no, no. Don't fib, Moony," Sirius grinned. "You're thinking...'As soon as this stupid prank is over I'm going to escape from this lot and go take a bath. With bubbles. But not the blue kind – they make my nose itch. Yellow. No, green. Yellow _and _green. There's also next week's Arithmancy chapter I've been meaning to read...'"

There was a long pause, and then:

"No I wasn't."

"Oh, bugger me Remus, you liar," James interjected. "You're as pink as Peter's knickers."

Sirius and Peter both burst out laughing, until the latter realized they'd taken a mickey out of him as well. In the confusion of their amusement, Harry slipped his wand from his pocket into the sleeve of his robe; preparing himself to take certain measures. His breathing had sped up and he kept his eyes on his shoes.

"Now that you nancies have got your giggles out – can we go on with a bit more discretion, yeah?"

Sirius mumbled a few _choice_ bits of vocabulary at James and the group started up again, heading for the ground floor and Filch's office.

* * *

"Thank you, _God!_ I believe in you now, I swear. What do you want? I'll give you **anything**; a broom? _Padfoot's_ broom."

"Oh, get up, you loon—" and Sirius landed a swift kick at James' arse where he kneeled in devout supplication. "It's no miracle we didn't get caught: I could smell Mundungus' handiwork from here."

"Oh, really?" James snipped. He stood up and dusted himself off. "Is that why you through it was safe to run into _every_ suit of armor on the sixth floor?"

"Hey!" Sirius snapped. "That was _not_ my fault."

"I suppose the suits just got up and walked into you on their own, did they?" James shot back, stepping across the line and into Sirius' personal space.

"Actually," Remus interrupted, his voice even and conserved as he folded the Invisibility Cloak over his arm. James and Sirius simultaneously turned their faces towards him, a comic duo even during a row. "According to the third year I tutor, it _does_ happen."

"Aw shit, Moony," Sirius snorted. He waved a hand dismissively. "You always attract the hopeless cases. It was probably just some Slytherin gits."

"Oh, let's not start that again," Peter admonished. He jerked his head toward the door. Harry had followed last into Filch's office and his back was to them as he checked the hall for the absent caretaker and hastily closed to door down to just a crack.

"Just because Granger's been brainwashed into—"

James abruptly shut his mouth when he saw Harry's hands shaking as he spelled the door against eavesdropping and restored the wooden object back up his sleeve.

Remus saw it too. "Harry, you alright?"

Harry stared at the door, his eyes darting frantically across the wood grain. He'd done everything he could think of to get them caught, and somehow, _somehow_ the overzealous caretaker who was fabled to be able to hear things two floors away HADN'T heard a damn thing. James may have had the right idea; God, The Powers That Be, _whoever_, was definitely against him.

Sweat trickled down his neck and into the collar of his shirt. He wiped at it quickly and turned on his heel. The Marauders were staring at him with various expressions – concern, curiosity. Behind them he could see what little there was to see in the cramped office; confiscated items across the desk – trick quills, a pile of dungbombs –, a dirty set of robes draped over the back of a chair, a plate of something atop one of the file cabinets (forgotten there long enough to exude a rotten aroma). Harry forced a smile – pained and small though it was – and stuffed his still-shaking hands into his robe pockets.

"I thought we were going to get caught," he explained. Then, when he realized how like a Hufflepuff he sounded, added in a sharper tone. "Could you four _be_ any louder? Or did you forget, James, the three person pile up you caused in front of the boys' loo."

"There was water on the floor!"

"Uh huh." Harry was unconvinced. James tried again.

"And Padfoot charmed my laces!"

"Like hell!" –from Sirius.

"HEY! I _know_ you did..."

Remus intervened again, stepping between them before words became fisticuffs, became taunts, became hair-pulling, became screaming, became pouting, became friends again. An all-in-all acceptable cycle; however, they hadn't time for it now, as Remus was prudently reminding them. Harry and his shakes and sweat were easily forgotten.

"—alright?" Remus smacked Sirius' hand away from where it had probably intended on pinching James. "Now let's find the map. Harry's right you know – McGonagall'll have my badge if we're caught again."

For once in his life, Harry cursed his future professor's sensibility.

Sirius' violent defense of his "McGoogle-cake's" honor was cut off by James, who cleared his throat with enough volume to block out the whiny frequency of the other's voice. "Let's split up. Remus, go through his desk; Peter, check our files." James handed out assignments like he was the Head of the Ministry's Aurors. He lead and they followed.

"Secret places?" Sirius guessed, gleefully rubbing his hands together; a child expecting candy.

"Secret places." They both grinned like idiots and headed off towards a corner to look God-knows-where.

And Harry was left standing at the door.

_Think of something!_ He yelled at himself, and unconsciously, without thought – the tip of his wand dropped into his palm. His fingers itched, screamed for him to take it in his hand and do something, _anything_.

He forcibly replaced it back in his sleeve when _something drastic_ followed that thought.

"Are you keeping watch, Granger?" James quipped, startling Harry into blinking back to reality.

He didn't answer, but moved obligingly closer to the door. In fact, he pressed his back to the wall where with a turn of his head he could look through the door's crack for unexpected visitors, but his head never turned once. His eyes weren't even open.

True to Snape's handiwork his headache had not returned, but there was such a twisted turmoil in his gut that he nearly doubled over, barely managing to remain upright. The hunched walking underneath the cloak had, ironically, assuaged his discomfort, but now that there was nothing but feverish panic on his mind the pain came up to the forefront of his awareness. It felt like his intestines were tying themselves into knots.

He forced his eyes open. They burned with restrained tears; pain watering his eyes. He had to watch for the map, had to get ahold of it before they activated the enchantment and exposed him for who, for _what_, he truly was.

But his brain was mush. He couldn't form a coherent though for want of a reprieve from this pain he felt. The sum of what he was capable of doing amounted to his weak slouch against the door with bleary eyes and a hot flush burning its way up his neck; the dwindling mental energy only capable of being drawn together for a single time, one last effort, to ask the Powers That Be:

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Several things happened all at once.

Harry had the odd sensation of all his innards being suddenly flushed down the toilet, draining out of him in a slick rush. His eyes could only widen at the horribly familiar ache, relocated from his stomach to someplace just below.

Remus' head shot up from beneath the desk, his face having gone _deeper_ somehow; eyes just a bit darker, mouth a tad grimmer. With practiced concealment he sniffed at the air.

"What's that smell?"

And Peter, his voice cracking in his pubescent excitement, brought all attention to him. "The map!" he cried. "I think I've found it!"

Every face turned towards the eager boy, victorious smiles colored them, and Harry had a split-second to act.

"FILCH!" He shouted. The door banged shut and everyone jumped. "Filch is coming!"

Chaos.

Remus dove for the cloak, frantically pulling apart his meticulous folds while Sirius rushed to cover up the brunet's work on the desk. Papers were shoved back into drawers and Sirius cursed loudly at the framed photo of Mrs. Norris that kept toppling over from the force of his hurried cleaning. James was working on shoving one of the wall's cornerstones back into its niche, covering up the glint and glimmer of unknown objects hidden within.

When Peter slammed the file drawer shut again, empty-handed, Harry's lungs untwisted and he found that he could breathe again.

"What about the map!" James yelled, shoving off the floor.

"Leave it!" Remus demanded.

"Like hell!" said James, but Remus and Peter were both pulling him under the cloak.

"Bugger it all," Sirius muttered and broke the cover of the cloak before the prefect and his accomplice could stop him. "You four get out of here – we'll meet back up at the Tower." And then he'd pressed himself up against the cabinet and reached for Peter's drawer – reaching, reaching...

"Sirius don't!" warned Harry, voice tinged with hysteria-masked-as-concern. Inches from James' hand, the pile of appropriated dungbombs exploded.

"Shit!" "Damnit!" The blue-tinged smoke had filled the entire office in a matter of seconds; Zonko's finest.

"The paranoid codger's put up bloody booby traps!" Sirius's frustrated coughing came from out of a dense cloud of smoke. The stench was overwhelming and eyes were watering.

"The map!" It was an order coming from James' mouth, but even without it, Sirius had too much invested in that piece of paper and this late-night caper to let this chance go. He wrenched the cabinet open, peering through bleary and burning eyes to find the map.

Hands grabbed his arm. "Sirius! We _have_ to go!" Harry wasn't nearly as strong as he, but he was persistent and there were circumstances in which desperation overruled any strength.

"Not without the map—"

"Padfoot!" Remus voice was sounding far away – they were at the door.

"I've almost got it—" he shouted back and then his hand was closing around leathery parchment and Harry had released him. The drawer slammed shut and he went crashing down onto the floor – all his supports having abandoned him. He got his feet under him – speed being a matter of some importance – and ran headlong towards the door.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed. "Go!"

The door swung open in a burst of light. All the smoke that had filled in the tiny cupboard of an office funneled out in a diffusive burst, creating a backdrop of thick blue-gray clouds to their escaping run.

Filch, having heard the explosion of the dungbombs from a floor away in the oppressive silence of the empty castle, echoed an offbeat rhythm down the hall, his limp constricting his run. The **bum-bum….bum-bum…**was a familiar cadence to any trouble maker, but Mrs. Norris' echoing mewls –high-pitched and too close – made any attempt at retreat a suicidal effort.

The group threw themselves flat on the floor, in as much shadow as they could manage, and threw the expansive cloak over the pile of their bodies. James' elbow was digging into Peter's calf and _everyone_ was crushing poor Remus, but they didn't dare move, nor stir an inch because Filch had just arrived and his boot-toes were centimeters away from treading on Sirius' nose.

They waited with bated breath as the caretaker let off a string of expletives Dumbledore would've reprimanded him for using in a school had he been present, and didn't risk closing their eyes as they started fervently praying; Mrs. Norris had chosen to sit down right beside them and blink at their concealed faces with luminous red eyes, mewling unintelligible taunts.

Filch ignored her plaintive sounds, too furious to trust in her precise intuition, and with sharp words, without their usual endearments of "my love", "my sweet", he beckoned the feline to follow him and set off down the corridor in a limping half-gallop, calling out threats and spouting expletives directed towards the "cowardly vandals" that had violated his office.

They lay there a full minute before deeming it reasonably safe enough to run for the nearest secret passage and up to the fifth floor; though, no longer being large enough for so many seventeen year old boys, the cloak hitched up to their calves, four pairs of feet exposed to anyone who passed by. Breaths were panted out as they finally allowed themselves to breathe properly, and rapid palpitations of their hearts echoed in Remus' over-aware ears as he tried to suss out the earlier scent that had confounded him, having lost it in the ensuing panic.

He was distracted once again however, though, this time it was from an _absence_of a familiar smell. Something like heated vanilla and old books. He exhaled sharply and looked around, though it was pointless.

"Where's Harry?"

They threw off the cloak to look up and down the corridor – Peter even wanted (rather bravely) to go back into Filch's office and look for him. All of it was to no avail. Harry was nowhere to be found.

"The pansy _scarpered!_" said a disbelieving Sirius, hand fisting in his hair.

Peter worried his upper lip between his teeth. "If he hadn'ta come we'dve been caught for sure."

"You shouldn't have let him come, Prongs," Remus agreed. "It was obvious he wasn't feeling well—"

"_Exactly_." James said. The look in his eyes spoke of some secret victory. "A sick person _couldn't_ have deserted us that quickly."

Remus' serious brow furrowed and his lips turned downwards in a disapproving frown. "Oh, honestly, James. If you hadn't been so insistent on the map—"

"The map!"

Peter insistently 'shushed' him, but James pushed the pudgy boy out of his way and advanced eagerly on Sirius, still standing with his hand in his hair and a surprise-laden expression. "You got it, yeah?"

This snapped the tall ravenet back into reality and he lifted up his fisted hand, clutched tightly around a folded parchment. He uncurled white fingers and held it out to James.

The Head Boy's face had turned ashen white. "This..._this isn't it._"

* * *

The mood when they finally stepped through the Fat Lady's portrait was depressing to say the least. To have gone through all of that and emerge with nothing to their credit was both embarrassing and disheartening. James, of course, had insisted on going back – something he'd refused to do when Peter suggested it in search of Harry – but he'd been overruled by the rest. Filch was still patrolling the halls, and in his state they'd be lucky to avoid being caught and hung by their thumbs in the dungeons.

The dark-haired duo threw themselves dejectedly down on the couch and chair, while Remus excused himself to the bathroom to wash away the dried sweat that had formed across his forehead in the adrenaline rush of their escape. Sirius was utterly silent in comparison to James' continuous grumbles – most likely feeling an arse for grabbing the wrong parchment, despite circumstances having been against him. Peter was the sole member of the group to head for the dormitories, worried about the missing Harry.

"JAMES!" Peter's sudden and anxious yelling startled all those still in the common room. "SIRIUS! REMUS!"

Remus emerged from the loo with a towel around his neck and water still dripping from his wet bangs. He met Sirius' confused look over the back of his armchair and threw off the towel to jog up the curling staircase. Sirius turned to James, who looked the least inclined to follow, and slid off the chair. James grumbled a bit more and did the same.

Anything they could have imagined awaiting them – from a spider Peter was too afraid to kill, to Harry sicking up from inhaling too much of the smoke – was pulverized into tiny, indistinguishable bits and forgotten. All was as they'd left it, except for the small bit of land awarded to Harry.

His things were scattered all across the bed and floor. Miscellaneous clothes hung out of his dresser, the drawers left crookedly open. The sheets were twisted and spewed almost grotesquely around the poster beams. His school trunk, with its dark mahogany finish and gold pressed initials, was gone completely, leaving a barren rectangle outlined in dust.

The most gut-wrenching thing, however, the thing that hit them hardest, gave them the greatest sense of _oh my god_ was the stack of books Harry had kept lovingly piled on his bedside table – well-cared for, well-loved, and dutifully bookmarked without desecrating the pages with dog-ears – upset and scattered across the hard floor; markers scattered, pages trapped and bent horrifically beneath opened covers, and a shattered inkwell seeping across the bright cover of _Hogwarts: A History_ – a bloody desecration of the book he treasured most.

They took all of it in, because they couldn't look away – the sickening scene compelling them to look, to memorize ever horror, to never forget; and ten years from now they would remember the cutting feeling in their gut and the stench of ink thick in the air as they watched Harry's book bleed out its words and its owner's devotion into the cracks of the cold, cold floor.

"He's _gone_."

* * *

Hermione had made sure the door was bolted and charmed before crawling into the bathtub. She'd peeled off her trousers and briefs and incinerated them in the sink; though, it wouldn't have taken much more time to _scourgify_ the dark stains away. It was more liberating to have done it that way.

She'd put a stopper in the rampant draining of blood from her body, but nothing else, and her bare legs hung awkwardly over the rim of the tub, copper stains smeared across the inside of thighs. She would clean up later – stand beneath the spray of scalding water 'til her skin was flushed and battered red, the knots in her lower torso melted and untwisted, returned headache evaporated by the constant thrum of water against her temples. Then she would crawl into bed, with its unfamiliar sheets that made her cry for want of home, and curl into a ball to sleep or die – at that point it wouldn't matter which.

For now she sat in the bathtub, dirty and unkempt. She stared at her open trunk without really seeing it. Her mind was elsewhere. It was _all over._

She'd pushed too far, believed too deeply. She'd actually forgotten her own gender, forgotten to check the calendar. She'd come too close to ruining it all, and for the first time in the past few weeks she remembered that her discovery would result in drastic consequences.

What had happened to the cautious and level-headed witch she had once been? How could she have become so careless? The answer shamed her:

_Sirius and James_.

She tried to trace back her own actions and rationalizations that had guided her through the past months to where she stood now and failed. At any point in time she could have gone straight back with a few simple turns of her hourglass. Neither the simplicity nor convenience of her escape mattered though. Because she hadn't used it. No matter how she tried she couldn't summon to mind what arguments had convinced her to stay. All logic and justification escaped her.

And _that_ was a very bad sign...

It meant she had to leave. Soon. There was no telling how much of history she'd irreversibly altered by extending her stay for so long. She'd been foolish to forget the gravity of the power she was wielding. She should have been above that; should have been better. She _was_ better. Better than this.

She would wait out these next three days as she'd always done and then she'd make her excuses – to Dumbledore, to Severus and Lucius – and leave while her head was still clear. She'd avoid the Marauders all together. It'd be better that way. Though, it would hurt her to abandon Peter without so much as a note. If she met him again in the future (she had no doubt her actions in the past wouldn't cause such a drastic difference) she would plead his forgiveness. Because while they'd become fast friends, not even that was enough to make her risk it.

The two Slytherins were a different story.

They hadn't traded friendships so much as _respect_. A meeting of shared intellect and collaborated minds. The Marauders she could easily ignore (much to her surprise) but from what she knew of Lucius and Severus' future she wouldn't, with good conscience, be able to leave without offering them _some_ sort of explanation. Both had a preoccupation with _knowing_. They might care about something in particular, but if there was the slightest bit of puzzle to it they were never satisfied until they'd solved. Others knowing what they did not irritated them.

She knew Severus most especially would lord it over the ignorant Marauders, but she doubted they'd be anything but enemies. Besides, she saw herself in the Slytherins. Her _old_ self.

From there her thoughts drifted. She'd taken the wizarding equivalent of the Muggle's midol times ten – the empty potion bottle lying on its side in the tub beside her. The chalky residue clung to the lip. It was taking effect; making her drowsy, unfocused.

Her thoughts glided lazily around the cramped loo of her room in the Leaky Cauldron. The faucet had a drip, repetitive and slightly irksome. One of the latches on her trunk had popped – having been treated too roughly and stuffed beyond its capacity. And the Time-Turner hung cold and heavy between her heaving breasts. She'd torn the bandages away, popping two buttons on her blouse and pushing a ring of tattered tape down to her waist. She had an uncomfortable sensation of her body, her skin continuing to expand; that the tape had been all that kept her rebelling expansion at bay. Her chest stretched farther with each breath, lungs taking in more air each time until she was filled, hysterically, with unfounded fear. And she wondered briefly, in panic, if it was possible to suffocate in air.

How wrong it was that she should feel alienated in her own body.

The potion sedated her; mercifully deadening her sensors and nerves, lowering her blood pressure, lulling her down. It took away her ability to fear just as much as it ended her will to move unnecessarily. She didn't doubt she'd fall asleep in the bathtub. Her mind was already turning to inane topics and drivel.

The last conscious action she made was to lean forward and drag her wand off the lid of the toilet. One, because it wasn't the safest place for something so crucial to a witch's way of life, and two, because she needed it. On her other side, the one without the bottle, and propped up between the drain and spigot, was a folded sheet of parchment. She'd been casting it spare glances since she'd torn her way through the small bathroom in hysteria and collapsed in the vacuous exhaustion that followed over the edge of the tub. It had taken a great deal of slight of hand to procure that parchment. It had been she that set off the dungbombs, she who'd grabbed the map first and shoved another parchment into Sirius' groping hand.

She'd run all the way back to the tower with it hidden beneath her shirt.

She had to know if it had been worth it.

"I solemnly swear...that I am up to no good..."

The tip of her wand grazed the center crease and the parchment unfolded as ink bleed across it; forming walls, halls, and windows. Footsteps appeared, curling names on scrolls floating over them.

She had it: The Marauders' Map.

Her last thought, before sleep took her, was what she would see over _her_ footsteps when she returned to Hogwarts.

* * *


	13. Out of Time: Part I

**Completed:** 06/26/07 7:00 PM  
**Posted: **06/26/07 8:03 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _WOW! Long time no see people. Life's been crazy non-stop, and while I've been sitting here waiting for it to calm down I've left you all out to dry. SO sorry. Hopefully there's still readers out there?

Let's see if I've still got it in me...

--

Previously in Deception & Concealment:

* * *

"_I solemnly swear...that I am up to no good..."_

_The tip of her wand grazed the center crease and the parchment unfolded as ink bleed across it; forming walls, halls, and windows. Footsteps appeared, curling names on scrolls floating over them._

_She had it: The Marauders' Map._

_Her last thought, before sleep took her, was what she would see over _her_ footsteps when she returned to Hogwarts._

* * *

The next three days passed in a blur of half-drugged consciousness, for Hermione's part, and in comparative normalcy for everyone else. After that first night in the bath, Hermione had locked herself into her room – never venturing out and never allowing the maid in to clean up, nor Tom to check on his unsociable patron. Decisions made in the dark were rethought in the light of day, and the few hours in which her mind was afforded a semblance of clarity from the drugs, she agonized over her choices, both past and future – screaming into her pillow in frustration and weeping through her fingers.

* * *

_Why did I come back? _

* * *

It was the first of the questions to make it through her muddled half-consciousness, but it was enough. Enough.

She was laying on the floor when it presented itself; prostrate on wooden boards with an empty potions vial near her head.

"To fix things – to stop Harry from hurting others, from hurting _himself_." She said the words out loud, rolling over to stare at the whitewashed ceiling, but not seeing it at all.

**Liar! **The sudden rebuttal surprised her so much that she sat up; though she swayed dangerously. **You were afraid and you ran from it. You'd rather Voldemort had won, don't you?**

"No..." She whispered. Her hands fisted in her hair and her throat clenched painfully. She shouted to keep it open. "NO! That man _took_ Harry from me! _HE RUINED MY LIFE!_"

* * *

_Is it too late?_

* * *

She was buried beneath blankets and sheets, curled as tightly as her body could go at the foot of the bed. "No. They couldn't possibly have—it's _inconceivable_."

It was dark and hot and she couldn't breath. She whispered and the air grew hotter still. "They couldn't know."

**Get out; get out now. You've lingered too long, gotten yourself too involved – leave before you do something even more stupid than you already have.**

Tears burned her eyes before the heat overtook her and she slept.

* * *

_Why me?_

* * *

She didn't answer. She lay across the pillows and stared at the flickering flame of the bedside candle. She bent all her thought on _not_ thinking about the question and focused instead on the candle, 'til the sight of it occupied her completely.

**Because it always has to be you. **

The candle wavered.

**You're Hermione – **_**their**_** Hermione; Ron and Harry's. **

Their faces came to her in the dancing orange flame. They smiled. They lingered.

She remembered the things they'd done, the games they'd played; her mind sought out these memories and latched on.

**There's never been a scrape you haven't gotten them out of, not in all your years of friendship.**

She saw Ron's face – the day she'd left. It was too pale, too gaunt. It wasn't _Ron_. He hadn't been for a very long time.

"Oh Ron..." she whispered his name like a prayer into the dark. "Did I do the right thing?"

She'd only wanted things to go back to the way they were; when they were happy. But it was all wrong, it was too hard – she couldn't do it alone. "I need you Ron..." she pleaded, never in her life needing someone as badly as she did now. "Oh, Ron..."

His smile haunted her like never before; a painful reminder. She blew the candle out.

* * *

_What do I do?_

* * *

No answer.

* * *

_Who do I tell?_

* * *

"Severus...Lucius..." She'd already decided, hadn't she?

**Why tell anyone at all?**

She hadn't thought of that before.

"I need...I need someone to know. In case..."

**In case NOTHING! They'll expose you and everything will be ruined!**

"In case I fail! In case I've done something I never intended to do. In case – GOD! I don't know." She threw her pillow against the far wall with a shriek of frustration. She stared at the spot on the wall with tears running down her cheeks, then the silent trickle became a hot, rushing cascade and her face crumpled red and angry as she screamed; "DAMNIT! Damnit, damnit, DAMN. IT!"

* * *

_Was it all for nothing?_

* * *

That was the big question, wasn't it?

"I don't know." If she was ever perfectly honest, it was now. "I feel like I've done..._something_; made a difference. But I..."

**Haven't done what you came for – have you? You don't have any idea if you've succeeded or failed!**

She shook her head. "I refuse to believe that this – all of it – has been for nothing. My actions had to have counted for something."

**You've done a lot. Too much.**

"I know," she said, and buried her head in her hands.

* * *

_How do I fix this?_

* * *

No answer.

* * *

She slept, too fitful and anxiously to be restful, and didn't eat; her throat ached from her bouts of screaming and tears, but she drank nothing unless it was another draught of numbing potion.

Question and answer. That was her sole pursuit – whether she was half-conscious or not. It filled her dreams with nightmares, filled every waking moment with doubt and anguish. It pursued her; consumed her. And for those three days she allowed it, surrendered to it. For three days she let it swallow her whole.

And in this half-alive fashion, she passed through her confinement.

On the third day, she pulled herself – bedraggled and beleaguered – from the tangle of sweaty sheets and, throwing back the window curtains, blinked rapidly into the dazzling sunshine. In the streets of Diagon Alley, the wizarding world was abuzz with its usual energy and excitement. Young children played in the bright sunlight while their parents shooed them along, packages piled up in their hands. A young store clerk was setting up a new display in the Quidditch shop window and a few shoppers paused a moment on their way to watch.

Her throat felt scratchy.

She fumbled with the latch a moment and shoved the window up. Fresh air whooshed in around her sending goosebumps up her bare legs. She took a shuddering breath and headed into the bathroom.

She spent an hour under the spray of the shower. She didn't know her hair, short as it was, could get so matted and tangled, but she'd managed to make it so and it took three washings to undo the damage. It took five minutes to remove the stains from the inside of her legs, but even after they were gone she sat on the floor of the bath scrubbing her skin raw. Her curls were matted flat over her eyes, dripping soapy water down her chin, but she kept rhythmically washing at her skin 'til it was entirely free from the salt of her sweat and tears. She opened her mouth and tilted back her head, letting the hot water sooth her parched throat. So many questions were till unanswered, but one thing was certain:

It was time to go back.

--

The walk through Honeyduke's tunnel was longer than he remembered it being. All his belongings had been left behind in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, yet his feet seemed to drag with each step. The light from his wand bobbed in front of him, weak and hardly useful, and he was lucky to have the path memorized after so many travels.

It was a strange feeling; having made up his mind to leave, yet having his body tarry here. He'd tried to force it to cooperate, of course, but had inevitably given up. There are sometimes when, no matter the attitude of the mind, the body does as it pleases. An unfortunate character trait of the human race.

Actually, he wasn't all that sure his _mind_ was functioning properly either. He scarcely remembered his stay in the Leaky Cauldron and had only a slightly better awareness of what he'd done between then and now; as though he'd fazed it all out. It was like driving a car when you realize you're suddenly at your destination and hoping to god your spacey mind remembered to stop at all the lights. Only vastly more frightening.

He remembered opening the window, showering, and talking to Tom – but only vaguely. Then he'd apparated to Hogsmeade, must have somehow slipped into the Honeyduke's passage – though he remembered that part none at all – and now here he was.

"Pathetic," he muttered to himself; though, perhaps that was a bit harsh. The situation was enough to screw anyone up, if you thought about it.

Going back in time to stop your best friend from being born was screwy enough on its own, but no. Throw in an even _more_ screwed up sort-of relationship with said best friend's dad and godfather – and, oh yeah, they don't know you're really a girl. Befriend two Slytherins and future death-eaters (which might really be more trouble than its worth) as well as Lily and James' future murderer.

Of all the things, he felt the least poorly about the last. Peter Pettigrew – set up for a miserable life right from the off. In Harry's timeline, his friendship with the Marauders had probably been his one true joy in life; unfortunately, as time would tell, it hadn't been enough. Deep in his soul, Harry prayed that _his_ friendship had made that smallest difference, that Peter's new found confidence would not desert him when it truly mattered.

He'd never become a death-eater, never betray Lily and James and frame Sirius. But then, if Harry was in fact _not_ born; the prophecy would point to Neville and Peter would never be called upon to betray the unwedded Potters. Of course, then Neville would become the Boy-Who-Lived – set up for a life of misery and hardship; if he even survived that first encounter. Would Alice Longbottom sacrifice herself for her son, as Lily had done? If she did, would it produce the same effect; would her love send the Dark Lord into exile for twelve years?

Maybe befriending Peter hadn't been such a good idea after all…

He'd stopped without meaning to, but when he resumed walking it was with both a heavy heart and heavy step.

Everything he'd done seemed to have gone bad. Everything. His intentions may have been good and honorable, but now they were paving his way to hell and he wished to God – for one split second – that he'd never gone back. What did he know of time traveling anyway?! The longest he'd gone back before this attempt was three hours. Three measly hours. In the same day, let alone the same month, same _year_.

"This was such a mistake..."

He didn't know how to fix what he'd done; it seemed utterly irreparable. Lily, James, Sirius, Peter, Lucius, Severus, all of Hogwarts was completely changed by him being there the past few months. More than anything he wanted to go home; go home and leave all of this behind.

Before he did any more damage.

He hadn't yet looked at the map, but when he came up against the crumbled rock that signified the exit behind the hump-backed witch, discretion prevented him from putting it off any longer. As much as he'd rather remain ignorant, he couldn't take the risk of wandering through the castle blindly when, by now, everyone was probably aware that he'd left. His monthly departures weren't wildly publicized, but they were generally known; it was the manner of his departure this time that would have caused a flurry of speculation. It would be just his luck (and just as likely) that James or Sirius had put out a reward for any information.

Harry smiled, though, it was bittersweet and strained. Sirius and James – probably the biggest mistake he'd made, and yet...

For a time...it had been nice to be loved with such intensity.

Less than a handful of snogs and mostly heated looks was all he'd had with them, and it had hardly begun at all. He wished he'd had more of a chance, he wished it had never started; more confusion that he didn't need, especially now. He needed to focus on getting through the castle instead, and that meant the map.

Swallowing hard, he whispered into the darkness. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The ink bled across the parchment in his hands, tracing the familiar shape of Hogwarts castle before him. Faster and faster it spread until the spidery threads were racing to the edges. Closer, closer – and then they were out of parchment and out of time and a proud Hogwarts lay before him in an exhilarating culmination of ink and magic. Its familiarity was a comforting reminder that some things transcended even time.

He watched Dumbledore pacing in his study, saw a group of Hufflepuffs studying in the library, and a number of students out playing in the snow. He even, albeit reluctantly, sought out the Marauders and found them at their usual spots in the Gryffindor common room. Then, almost as a last resort, his eyes dropped to the Honeyduke's passage.

He blinked.

Then again. Slowly; so as to give his brain a chance to catch up.

All the anxiety, all the indecision. Question and answer. All of it had revolved on the mistaken notion that he had a choice in the matter; all of it meant nothing now. He would never know how deep the feelings between the two Marauders and himself ran. He would never know the repercussions – for good or ill – that would come from his continuing relationship with Peter. He would never discover what had embittered the Snape of her future, nor warn Remus of all the heart-ache and loss that awaited him outside of Hogworts, for not only was 'Harry Granger' _not_ written above his footprints, _he didn't have any footprints at all_.

As far as the map was concerned, there was no one in the witch's passage; neither Harry nor Hermione Granger even existed.

The Marauders could be remarkably dense sometimes, but they weren't stupid. They'd notice.

He didn't think about it. At least – he _tried _not to, but as he started forward he could sense the discovery lingering on the edge of thought. He checked to make sure the corridor was clear and then stuffed the map deep into his pocket. He cast the spell and climbed out into the bright light, praying to make it through his plan without mishap.

He made his way through the castle's back-winding shortcuts avoiding all students – a surprisingly easy task given Hogwarts numerous corridors and passageways – pulling out the map every so often to check his path. It was hard to be secret with a thousand paintings leering at you, but Harry kept his head down and moved quickly through those corridors. By the time he reached where he'd been headed, his entire back was tense from anxiety and his palms were sweaty. Remarkably, he'd made it without incident.

Now that he was here, however, he was afraid to enter. Hell, he was terrified. But he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and after facing down Voldemort countless times this should be nothing. So...just go on then. His knees locked up and his heels pressed into the floor. Go. His hand twitched and then lifted partway. Go!

He knocked – Merlin knows why; perhaps he was hoping the map had somehow been wrong – and was answered immediately by a curt voice.

"Go away."

Harry almost smiled.

With a deep breath he pushed open the classroom door and stepped inside. The speech he'd prepared in his head scattered like leaves, and all Harry could think to say was, "Hullo."

Severus looked up from their potion as the door swung shut behind Harry. "Granger?" He almost sounded surprised.

They stared at each other across the room, too many words hanging on Harry's tongue and indifferent annoyance clear on Snape's face. How exactly do you tell someone, especially if that someone was Severus Snape, that you came from the future and, oh yeah, were really a girl?

Maybe this was a sign – the silence telling him it was a mistake to divulge his secrets. And to a Slytherin no less! Should he? His mind shouted equal parts yes and equal parts no. He should just go – go now.

They were both saved when the door was pushed open behind Harry, knocking into his heels and making him stumble forward and out of the way. He didn't have time to even think of hiding before the newcomer entered.

"Lucius," Harry sighed, never more relieved to see the egotistical blond.

Malfoy gave him an amused look, and shut the door. "Look who we've got here," he drawled. No 'where-the-hell-have-you-been', no 'damn-i-was-hoping-you-were-gone-for-good'. Just 'look who we've got here'. He almost laughed.

He hardly gave Harry a look as he crossed over to Severus' worktable and draped himself over the nearest chair.

"I'm glad you're here," Harry managed weakly. Lucius' eyebrow raised. "Listen, I—"

"If you're here to share your sordid tales and Great Hall gossip, I'd ask that you refrain from doing so in my presence," Severus said disdainfully, hiding his face behind a large text.

"No, you—"

Lucius smirked. "I wouldn't mind hearing them," he leered. Harry's face flushed, but with embarrassment came a wash of frustrated courage; and he was too far now to keep silent.

"Will you just listen already? I'm trying to tell you something important!" He huffed, resisting the urge to throw something large and heavy at them.

"What could you _possibly_ have to say that would hold any value to us?" Lucius sneered. He looked every bit the Malfoy of the future; shoes shined, pants pressed, and his face cold.

"A secret," Harry answered, staring him down.

"The secrets of Gryffindors tend to be frivolous and inconsequential," Snape stated curtly from behind his book, and Lucius laughed.

"Give him a chance," he chuckled. "It could be 'deep' and 'dark'."

How ridiculous to be arguing over the significance of his secret. "It is," Harry said firmly; feeling even sillier at defending it. "You'll be the only ones who know."

"I highly doubt that," Snape corrected.

Harry knew just what to say:

"Not even the Marauders know."

Snape raised his face from his book and Lucius eyed Harry with renewed interest. The two exchanged a look – the possibility of lording something over the Marauders tempting them greatly. Harry held his breath and hoped he hadn't misplayed his cards.

"Why tell anyone then?" Lucius asked, and with good reason. Harry could almost hear the voice in his head echoing that same question. "And why tell us? We certainly aren't friends..."

Harry laughed, probably the first time in the past four days, and sat down with them. "Not hardly," he agreed. "But we _are_ similar. Call it...a 'preoccupation with _knowing_'..."

Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Why tell anyone?" He repeated. He still was incapable of explaining his reasoning, of vocalizing his unnamed urge for _someone to know._ Why not just leave without a word; minimize the chance of exposure? Carefully, he tried his best to put his thoughts into words; Slytherins, of course, being very partial to the oral argument.

"So someone will know, I suppose. In case I've made a mess of everything." His eyes scanned the two Slytherins without really seeing them and fidgeted with his hands. "I guess I want to be held accountable for my actions."

There was a long silence between the three of them. When Harry's eyes finally focused again, they met with Lucius'. He wasn't smiling now, his aristocratic face stern and calculating, as if he knew the weight that resided in Harry's words. Maybe that's why he wanted so badly to tell the two Slytherins – there were quite possibly two of the few people who would truly understand the consequences of it all. Harry saw this look and understood, making the blond's next words seem all the heavier.

"What have you done, Granger?"

Harry's answering smile was sardonic and flat.

"_I_ _have no idea,_" the brunet answered truthfully. It was almost a relief to say aloud. "I can only hope that it's what I came back to do."

"Came back?"

How to go about phrasing it – 'you'll never guess, but—'; 'I'm a bit young for our year, see I haven't even been born yet'. He was sure that not many people – outside of films and novels – had to come up with an explanation for their time traveling adventures; especially since real-life users of time turners and the like were supposed to keep mum about the fact. As they say – "old habits die hard"; in his case that meant when in doubt, be blunt.

Harry exhaled slowly. "I'm from the future. 1999 to be exact."

There were no shocked outbursts no disbelieving protests. They didn't rant or rave or run from the room. Neither moved so much as a muscle, in point of fact. Their minds must have been working at an alarming pace, but they showed no outward sign of it.

"How?" It was Snape who asked it.

Facts. Facts he could do. "Eleven years from now, a man named Flavian Chronos will invent a device called a Time Turner. Short-range forward and back. There are only two future-sending Time Turners, both under control of the Ministry. I spent a year modifying my own Time Turner to go back years rather than hours, for reasons I obviously cannot disclose."

Harry fished for the golden chain around his neck and pulled free the glittering hourglass. It spun around in the air above his chest, winding up and then spinning back right, almost with a mind of its own.

"I...had an idea you know," Lucius said, suddenly enough to make Harry jump. He was biting his thumbnail, an atrocious gesture for a Malfoy and proof that his words had reached him. "Your background matched up, your information was solid; however, there was always this...nagging feeling. Something I couldn't place. I sent you that book, hoping for answers, but...I had no idea of the truth. You covered yourself frustratingly well."

Harry thought back to the _Magical Anomalies_ book he'd received for Christmas, now somewhere in the turmoil of the boy's dormitory. He wondered what had been in those pages that Lucius had wanted him to find. Oddly, though, it didn't come as a surprise that Malfoy had wondered, even theorized about him – it was simply in his nature to pursue what he considered to be puzzling anomalies.

There was a solemnity between them; a tangible thickness in the air. The seriousness of the situation was well understood – Harry was messing with the past to change the future, they knew that he was probably doing so outside the law, and while they shared an intellectual understanding, there were no bonds of friendship keeping either Slytherin from going to Dumbledore or the Ministry. If there was a crime punishable by life in Azkaban or even immediate death – messing with the past was it.

"Do you think you succeeded?" Snape asked lowly.

Harry passed a hand over his face, but answered as he believed. "Yes...I think so. I also think – no, I _know_ I've changed a lot more than I intended."

"Time isn't controllable, Granger. Wizards took hundreds of years before finally creating these Time Turners of yours – probably because they feared the repercussions of meddling with it," Lucius chastised. And while Harry knew what he said was true, he also knew that such consequences were possible when Hermione began tampering with the Time Turner nearly two years ago.

"I won't know until I get back."

"When?"

So simple a question, yet one that had been plaguing him for weeks; always another cause for delay. But not this time.

"Today. Once everything's in order."

Severus nodded twice, his eyes casting aimlessly over the simmering potion. Harry frowned slightly; a momentary regret. "I'm sorry I won't be able to help you finish, Severus."

"Time's against you," he said gruffly.

Harry's frown softened into a half-smile. "In a fashion..." He tucked the Time Turner back underneath his collar and his fingers grazed the rough bandages that had become far too familiar. "Regardless, I can't stay here any longer. My lies are...catching up with me."

Lucius snorted. "Many Gryffindors sussing out you're a time traveler?"

Harry shook his head, fumbling for the words. There really wasn't a way to ease them into it, and for a moment Harry considered not telling them at all. Surely, one secret was enough. Surely his heart would feel lighter knowing that if he'd made a mess of everything, then someone would know. Still, he felt they _needed_ to know, know all of it. What was the use of knowing how someone had carried out these actions if they couldn't properly attach a name to the crimes. It was weak logic, but it was enough because that need was back – the need for someone else to know.

So he screwed up his courage and finally said, "Well...I'm a _girl_."

The feminine alto rang through the small room and Hermione wondered at the sound of it – it had been so long. So long. She wondered if it had gone on any longer, would she have forgotten what her true voice sounded like? The clear tone of it seemed to hang in the air, lingering between them like subtle perfume.

"Surely you're joking," Lucius exclaimed without so much as a pause to consider.

She almost laughed. Time travel – they don't bat an eyelash; tell them you're a girl and they're suddenly skeptical. Slytherins truly were a breed apart.

"I'm really not," she insisted, still marveling at the sound of her own voice. "Really!" She pressed, though it was more to hear the sweet sound of it again, than to further persuade the Slytherin. She'd never found her voice particularly effeminate – nor the rest of her to be sure – but hearing it now, after four months of disuse...it made her suddenly ache for home.

The boys reclaimed her attention.

"Impossible," Snape sneered, dropping his book. "The professors would have discovered it immediately. Not to mention the obvious obstacles – public lavatories, group dormitories—"

"More importantly – how did the Dysfunctional Foursome not notice?" Lucius demanded. "While decidedly lacking in intelligence, Black and Potter, for their part, are well informed with the female anatomy."

Hermione stiffened, their names being thrown out at her unexpectedly. Her palms started to itch.

"Then again," Lucius drawled, his tone changing so suddenly that Hermione feared he'd noticed her reaction. "It would make sense..."

She was almost afraid to ask; especially when the scowl on Snape's face darkened, looking to Lucius. Hermione swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "What would?"

"There's something of a rumor going around," he said, sharpness underlining his words. "You've gotten rather close to our dear Potter. _And_ Black. Haven't you?"

She choked. "I—"

"The school thinks you're about to become to next Marauder."

Hermione didn't have time to be relieved, for before she could even take a breath to speak, Lucius was leaning forward in his chair and spitting out his next words with an inexplicable anger in his voice.

"_No one_ joins the Marauders."

Hermione knew she should be terrified, panicked – he knew about whatever was going on between her, James, and Sirius. Not only that, but he now knew she was a _she_ not a _he_ – very valuable information when your aim was to utterly ruin the lives of the Marauders.

"No," she said quietly, almost resignedly. "No, they don't."

Now that it was out there in the open there was no turning back. She couldn't take the information out of their heads, anymore than she could stop them from going to Sirius and James with her secret. Lucius kept starring at her, as though expecting some explanation or refusal. Hermione sighed, for all that had been said was the truth.

"What do you want me to say?"

He adjusted the sleeve of his robe and didn't look at her. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

She shrugged. "I suppose not."

Time ticked steadily by, but she made no move to leave. Snape tended the simmering potion in the back corner and Lucius stared at his hands.

"For what it's worth," grumbled Snape suddenly, and obviously not without a bit of reluctance. "You were the only marginally tolerable Gryffindor."

Hermione laughed, and it was short and pure. "Well," she answered. "For what it's worth you two were horribly cunning and – dare I say, dastardly?"

Severus' lips twitched, feeling the jest was at his expense, but Lucius broke out in the widest grin she'd ever seen him display. "You're just saying that..."

The mood lifted immediately, buoyed by their sarcastic banter, and Hermione laughed again. "No, no – I mean it!" She raised her right hand as though under oath and said, "Terribly sinister."

Snape coughed – oddly, like a choked back laugh – though he was still obstinately sneering over the cauldron. Lucius was smirking at her. "Now, Granger—"

**BOOM!**

The explosion roared through the tiny room and then it was gone, leaving Hermione to stumble in the deafening silence. In the next heartbeat the quake hit and Hermione might have screamed, feeling the aged stones ripple under her feet like they'd been turned to water. Chairs clacked into the table, the small fridge shivered violently against the wall and only Severus' quick thinking saved their potion from destruction as the cauldron's tripod snapped in two.

"What the hell was that?" Lucius yelled and staggered to the door.

"No! Don't!" Hermione shouted. Another explosion rocked the castle. It was farther away this time and the sound reached them like waves breaking against rocks. Lucius grabbed the wall just as the floor shuddered beneath them.

"_**STUDENTS PROCEED IMMEDIATELY TO THE DORMITORIES! "**_ Dumbledore's booming voice echoed almost painfully in the small confines of the room. _**"STUDENTS PROCEED IMMEDIATELY—"**_

The message repeated over and over again, rebounding off the walls in a persistent plea that made Hermione's ears ring. The urgency in the words was lost on the assembled trio for none of them moved; though, their breaths were shaky and uneven in the silence between words.

Hermione looked first to Severus, then Lucius. If it had been anyone else, she would have had to explain the look of dawning horror that now spread across her face. Instead, she was met with grim, understanding faces.

"Oh no," she whispered.

"_**PREFECTS AND HEADS WILL SECURE THE DORMITORIES. ALL FACULTY TO THE MAIN HALL. STUDENTS PROCEED IM—"**_

"He's..._here?_"

Both Slytherins cracked their frozen postures and set about with a suddenness that made Hermione, in all her shock, almost dizzy. Severus stored the potion quickly and Lucius checked the hallway.

"Keep your head Granger and get yourself back to the tower," he ordered over his shoulder.

"This can't be happening."

Lucius' thin patience snapped; "Granger!"

"No! I'm telling you it's not possible!" Hermione's panicked face was near to hysteria. "It _never_ happened!"

It took less than a second for the true implications of her words to sink in, but she caught it in the fleeting tension across his brow. The blond glanced at Severus, but Hermione didn't waste time following the gaze. His eyes returned to hers and his brows furrowed slightly.

"You're sure?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to be exasperated. "I've read every book on Hogwarts ever published. I can recite every headmaster from memory and list the date of every renovation from its founding. Voldemort _never_ attacked Howarts."

Another explosion shattered their conversation. Hermione stumbled into the door and Severus moved quickly to avoid bits of falling ceiling.

"Did _you_ cause this?" he asked. His eyes locked with hers.

Hermione swallowed her dread; the fear that she might have inadvertently put Hogwarts in jeopardy had already risen her. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I...I have to help."

**You've done a lot. Too Much.** – Hermione shook it off and started for the door. "There must be _something_ we can do—"

"No."

Hermione's head whipped around in surprise. Neither boy had moved.

"We can't fight." It was Severus who had spoken; she stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. "We can't...do anything."

Then she knew. No matter which side they were truly on, their families' past actions rendered them immobile – if they fought for Voldemort they would be outted amongst their peers, unable to return to Hogwarts; if they joined Dumbledore's forces they would become traitors to their families and the Lord they served. Crossing the Dark Lord wasn't something to be done lightly. In effect, they were stuck.

And she was on her own.

Slowly, she breathed in – nodding her head distractedly, shuffling to the door. Her eyes weren't quite focused as she reached for her wand. "Get back to the dungeons, then," she said. "If-"

"Granger..."

"If you can't make it—" she seemed to come to a decision; fingers tightening on her wand "—get to the prefect's bathroom and hide out there."

"We're _not_ hiding," Lucius snapped.

Hermione frustration was obvious. "Just get yourselves out of the way!" She yanked the map from her pocket and slipped into the hall. The Death Eaters were everywhere, swarming like ants over the stylized replica of Hogwarts; the Great Hall was black with their inked footprints.

The boys stepped out beside her and made to go left before she stopped them. "No! No – go right," she ordered, checking the map once more. "Keep out of sight and stay away from the grand staircase."

They hesitated on the threshold, and then finally turned right. She spun left and within seconds there was an entire hallway between them and then, then they were indefinitely separated. Hermione tried to push thoughts of them out of her mind; they'd make it. She had to believe they'd keep themselves out of trouble or she'd never be able to focus – focus on stopping the attack.


	14. Out of Time: Part II

**Completed:** 7/17/07 7:48 PM  
**Posted: **7/17/07 8:57 PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T [language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _Wrote most of this in my head while queuing for OotP. Actually had to break it up because the chapter was getting so long. The next part is half-written and will be up soon with more action, secrets, and definite surprises!

* * *

She ran without thinking. Her feet were sure and fast; navigating the castle halls with a subconscious surety. Throughout the journey she'd dart into an alcove or slink behind a statue to check the map. Several times she was forced to double back of find another way – constantly aware that time was racing past. Though her path twisted and looped, her destination was clear and she was moving towards it with all the intent and determination of her house.

The Entrance Hall.

The foyer at the bottom of the Grand Staircase was swallowed in black; scores of inky footprints blotting out the map's meticulous labeling, and the corresponding names. Within the undulating mass she caught sight of 'Dumble-' and the quickest flash of 'Minerv-' and that was enough. She didn't waste time searching out other names. If the Headmaster and McGonagall were in the heat of battle, then that was where she belonged; helping the castle's protectors and aiding them in guarding the ancient school.

She slipped out of the passage behind Beckett the Smarmy and took stock of the hallway before letting the tapestry fall back behind her, obscuring the stairs within the wall. The coast seemed clear; her goal – the slide at the far end. She could see it clearly; the portrait of a young flower girl awaiting the password, less than a hundred yards from her position behind Beckett.

She ran.

Dumbledore's warning still blared overhead; echoing on a deafening loop. It may have deafened her, but it also meant that her running footfalls went unnoticed by the enemy. It was her eyes alone on which she could rely; the slightest movement and she was throwing herself behind the nearest cover. She breathed heavily in the shadow of an alcove, eyes frantically searching the hall for danger. Twenty yards away So close and yet so far; she could barely swallow around the wild beating of her heart in her throat. She reached to check the map, but her hands were shaking so badly that she dropped it. Her thoughts had jumped to the worst possible memory and now she was paralyzed by it; frozen in fear.

She remembered another invasion in another time when a different war was at its darkest. Hermione had been in the middle of double Arithmancy when the school was attacked. She remembered that split second feeling of annoyance when the slight tremors caused her to smear her meticulous notes. An _instant_ of aggravation before the realization sunk in. So small a thing – to be annoyed at the moment when disaster was beginning; so silly. But it was real – a sign to her that there was still some light in the world; that she had not immediately thought the worst. Such a silly thing to remember.

The next thing she knew, she was pushing her way through the mob of students fleeing the other way. Harry. Ron. She had to find Harry and Ron.

Then she was in the third floor corridor, Ron at her back as they dueled with a masked Death Eater. The wizard fell only to have another take his place. A spell hit Ron square in the chest sending him toppling backwards on top of her. Only Neville's sudden appearance allowed Hermione to drag Ron and herself to safety. They'd barely made it out when some horrible collision of spells brought down the ceiling over the entire hall. Hermione kept dragging Ron down the corridor, praying that Neville had survived.

Ginny had been in the Hospital Wing, mending a broken leg and elbow; injuries sustained in yesterday's Quidditch game. That's where Hermione found Harry. He'd gone to protect Ginny and the Death Eaters had cornered him against her bed. He was wild – cursing and hexing with such ferocity that none of the masked figures could make it farther than ten feet in front of him. Several sent curses his way from behind the nearest overturned bed; Bellatrix's cackling laughter identifying her.

DA members had come to his aid and Hermione left the bleeding Ron in the stout care of Luna who, though seemingly harmless, defended the redhead admirably. Hermione remembered hexing her own way through the confusion – drawing away some of the attention to her side of the room. She ducked behind Pomfrey's scorched desk as a green jet of light streaked her way. More Death Eaters poured in. More of the DA fell.

Harry's frantic screams of _Crucio! Crucio!_ were outstripped by Bellatrix's screams of agony; he had _hated_ her enough for the Unforgivable to finally work. He had _wanted_ her to be in unspeakable pain and anguish; wanted to feel the _ecstasy_ of her misery more than he wanted her dead.

Hermione remembered what it felt like to have her heart break in two.

Harry was laughing as Hermione sprinted the gap to where Ginny slept – blissfully unconscious and totally unaware. He nearly hexed her too, before he realized himself, and then he redoubled his defensive efforts with increased fervor. Hermione swung the redhead's arm over her shoulder and, as she had just done for her brother, gave a mighty heave that pulled the girl from her bed and yanked her down behind it. "_Ennervate!_" She said, pointing her wand at Ginny's chest and waiting anxiously for her to rouse.

Green eyes blinked uncertainly and Ginny focused dazedly on her face. "Her-my-knee?" She murmured; her voice confused – frightened.

"We've got to get you out of here, Gin." Hermione whispered hurriedly. She shifted anxiously in her crouched position and eyed the windows thoughtfully. Hermione remembered Harry's laughter floating over her head as he held their enemies at bay. "I know it hurts, but we've got to make a run for it – stay on your good leg, alright?"

"Wha-" Ginny stopped and tried again. "Harry-"

"He's covering us – we're _going _to make it, Ginny" Even as she said it, Hermione believed without a doubt in the utter truth of it. Harry wouldn't let them die.

"Ready?" Ginny's hand tightened on her shoulder. "GO!"

Hermione gave another great heave upwards and Ginny groaned in pain as she found her feet. Keeping their heads down they headed as fast as they could for the windows; Hermione's mind screaming in fear as she turned her defenseless back to a room of Death Eaters. Stained-glass shattered with a wave of her wand and blocking her ears to the sounds of Ginny's anguished screams, grabbed her by both elbows and hoisted her into the sill.

"Get to the Forbidden Forest and hide there, alright?" She didn't wait for Ginny's nod. "_Mobilicorpus!_"

A faint shimmer – like the air above a fire – surrounded Ginny and then she was hovering slightly. Hermione was about to lower her down when the redhead let out a whispered 'oh!' as if something rather unexpected had happened. "Ginny?" There were no more screams of pain from broken bones, just a shocked look as she lowered her hands to her stomach.

"GINNY?!"

Blood gushed from beneath her hospital gown, spilling over her fingers in a rush. Hermione's spell snapped and Ginny toppled back into the room, uttering only another feeble 'oh!' as she hit the floor. Blood was now trickling out of her nose and the corners of her mouth. Hermione tried to staunch it with the sleeve of her robes but it was too much. It was too much blood.

Ginny, auburn hair now drenched in blood, was looking up at her with something like accusation in her dimming eyes. _You said we'd make it. You said Harry would protect us_. Pin-pricks of bloody tears started at the corners of those green-green eyes and rolled downwards. With crimson welling up beneath her tiny fingernails, Ginny reached out to her before she died.

Hermione didn't remember screaming, but she must have.

Harry wasn't laughing anymore.

--

Hermione barely managed to regain herself; Ginny's horrible death staying in her mind as effectively as if it had been branded there. It should be – it was her fault, she knew it. Ginny had died – confused and betrayed – because of _her_; all because of her. Her mind screamed that it was happening again; that people she loved would die _again_; she would fail _again_. The fear was insurmountable.

She knew that to stay there was suicide, but she couldn't overcome the panic gripping her – not until something happened that forced her into action.

Nearly deafening though the blaring missive was, she still heard the shrill cry of terror and that was enough. She regained herself immediately, fumbling for the dropped map with sudden desperation. No sooner had she done so than a huddle of terrified students came running down the hall. They collided with the classroom door across the corridor from her alcove, frantically push-pushing until the door swung open and they staggered inside.

Quickly scanning the inked map, Hermione was dismayed to find a sole set of footprints slowly advancing towards where she, and now the young Ravenclaws where hiding. The name was unrecognizable to her, but she could not suppress the overwhelming feeling of dread that rose at the sight of the stranger. With no one else nearby, she knew who it had to be: a Death Eater.

The footprints came to the bend in the corridor and, thinking only of that one terrified scream, Hermione pushed off the wall and was at the door in two breaths; another and she was inside.

A girl screamed. Another second-year weakly stammered out the first half of a Leg-Locker Hex, but his wand was shaking so badly he couldn't finish. Hermione held up her arms so they could see her clearly and said, "It's ok – I'm here to help." Someone in the group must have recognized her as Harry because they quieted almost instantly; though more than a few faces were stained with tears.

"Get away from the door," she ordered quickly, and as they stumbled back to comply, she raised her wand. "_Colloportus!"_

The doorknob shimmered faintly for a moment and squelched, to indicate that her locking spell had worked, and as the light faded Hermione ushered the younger students as much behind her as she could manage. She didn't ask why they hadn't made it back to their common room; it was an irrelevant point. All that mattered now was that they were hardly equipped with the skills necessary to defend themselves; _she_ was. The battle that was almost assuredly taking place down in the Great Hall beckoned her fiercely, but she knew that it was now up to her to keep these children safe.

The tiny room listened in vain for the sound of approaching footsteps but there came none; Dumbledore's message still too loud for anything less to be distinguished. Hermione didn't dare check the map for fear that the moment she lowered her wand the Death Eater would burst through the door. She felt one of the Ravenclaws trembling at her back.

And then the door burst violently into a blinding magenta glow; another scream from the frightened students. Hermione's grip tightened on her wand; the words of a spell balancing on her tongue. The wards she had hastily thrown over the door had been tripped – a forced attempt at entry causing the door to become alight. They'd been found.

The door exploded open in a shower of shrapnel and splintered wood.

"_STUPEFY!_"

"_Protego!_"

The red stunner shot from Hermione's wand into the cloud of dust and debris only to encounter the faint blue shine of a shield charm and fizzle out.

"Find cover!" She yelled. A masked and hooded figure lurched out of the destroyed doorway and, upon catching sight of her, turned in Hermione's direction, wand brandished.

"_CRU-_"

"_Accio chair!_" From across the room, a chair shot out from beneath a table and sailed through the air in the straightest path towards Hermione. It collided with the back of the Death Eater's head and he staggered forward from the shock of it, losing track of his spell as the wooden seat landed awkwardly in Hermione's arms. She found her grip, twisted, and swung upwards. The chair smashed into the Death Eater's face and as he rocked backwards from the force of it, blood sprayed from his shattered nose.

By the time his body hit the ground, Hermione was on him, wand in hand. "_Petrificus totalus!_" His limbs snapped together and he was no longer writhing in pain as the full body hex held him tight. Petrified as he was, his eyes were still visible – moving beneath his mask – and blood continued to run, in quite a spectacular fashion, from his smashed-in face.

Hermione levitated the petrified Death Eater to the back of the room and stuffed him in a supply cupboard, charming it shut.

Breathing hard, she turned to face them. Five sets of frightened eyes turned to her for guidance and to reassure _herself_ she took a slow steadying breath. "Alright. We're going to head for Ravenclaw Tower; keep right behind me and _stay alert!_"

She flicked back the sleeves of her robe, readying her wand. A quick check of the map told her the immediate area was clear, save of course the Death Eater now painfully ensconced in the cupboard. "Hold onto each other's robes, now – keep up!"

Hermione jumped when a hand closed around the hem of her left sleeve. She looked back at the young boy responsible and managed a shaky smile as she transferred the small hand away from its restricting hold on her wand-arm and clasped it firmly with her right. Though Mad-Eye was known to be exceedingly paranoid, he'd told her enough horror stories of witches and wizards caught unawares for her to know she wanted her wand ready and free at all times.

She squeezed the hand and slipped out the door. The train of Ravenclaws followed after, scuffling down the hall; hands fisted tightly in the robes of the person ahead of them. They reached Hermione's earlier goal without mishap and – at a hushed word from Hermione – the young flower girl swung open her portrait, revealing a secret passage.

The reappeared on the third floor just outside the Hospital Wing. From the shadow of the passage door she checked the map to find that Peeves the Poltergeist was bobbing quickly down the hall. His presence troubled her much less now that the castle was under attack. Gesturing them forward, Hermione led them cautiously down the corridor. Her hand was shaking from the strain of holding her wand at the ready for so long; she ignored it.

They passed the trophy room and checked the map; the Charms classroom – checked the map. The Tower was _so _far away that the distance seemed insurmountable to Hermione. At this rate the battle taking place floors below them would be over – for good or ill – by the time she reached it; unacceptable.

She was hurrying past the statue of the humpbacked witch when she had a thought so sudden it stopped her dead in her tracks; the boy holding her head smushed his nose against her back. She stared at the statue; mind racing. The passage to Honeydukes – she could send them to Hogsmeade; away from the battle entirely. If the Death Eaters got past Hogwarts' defenses, how long would the Ravenclaw portrait be able to keep them out?

The students shifted anxiously around her. She bit her lip. Dumbledore's warning was growing softer. Slowly, but surely, it was fading away. Soon it would go out. Did it mean something? Was Dumbledore injured? _Dead_?

She had to do _something_.

"_Dissen_-"

"No no dearie!"

Hermione whirled around, wand aimed at...a _portrait_? A plump witch with a vigorous head of blonde curls had run into a neighboring landscape; much to the annoyance of the inhabiting herd of sheep. "I've just been to my great granddaughter," she explained quickly. "The Three Broomsticks has been _ransacked_!"

Hermione's throat closed tight. "_They're in the village,_" she whispered.

The portrait nodded fitfully, wringing her hands. Reflexively, Hermione took a step away from the inert statue and the students followed. "I-I have to get these students back to their dormitory..."

"You should do the same," the portrait said quickly. "I fear this night is far from over—"

"How goes the battle?"

The portrait jumped at her sudden demand.

"Who's winning? Is the Headmaster alright?"

The portrait gaped.

"IS HE ALRIGHT?!" Hermione's voice rose before she could check it and she hastily checked to see if anyone had heard.

"I don't know," admitted the portrait, weakly.

"Get down to the Entrance Hall and find out as much as you can ," Hermione ordered. "Meet me on the seventh floor. And hurry!"

"My word!" The portrait exclaimed as Hermione led her group onwards. "Of all the…demanding, and I – oh, that boy!" The plump witch was heard muttering to herself all sorts of exclamations on the impertinence of youths all the way down the Grand Staircase.

For her part, Hermione wasn't too sure how reliable Rosmerta's great grandmother would be; even if she was willing to help, a portrait's sense of urgency was far different from that of the living.

"What's going to happen to us?" A girl with blonde plaits whimpered as they passed the wide double doors of the Hospital Wing. It took all of Hermione's resolve not to stop and check inside; that was the past – the _future_ – let it go.

"Harry won't let us die."

Hermione stumbled.

Looking in shock over her shoulder, the boy holding her hand smiled weakly, but with conviction. So, so trusting; _much_ too trusting. Hermione picked up the pace. "You'll be back in your rooms in no time," she said.

_Please, God – don't let me fail them._

* * *

An _agonizingly _long ten minutes later they'd reached the seventh floor; it was deserted. Dumbledore's warning was all but gone. "Hurry!" Hermione instructed and five pairs of feet sped up to match her pace. Sir Cadogan had joined the Fat Lady in defending Gryffindor's portrait and the Room of Requirement lay dormant and invisible. They turned the corner, walking faster yet.

The gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office now sat with its back to the corridor; claws obstinately dug into the wall; no one was getting in there any time soon – not that she had any idea of the current password. The boy stopped to gawk at the inanimate object's sudden about-face and she tugged impatiently on his hand.

Glass exploded over them in a deadly glittering shower and the floor surged and rumbled underneath their feet. They screamed and threw up their hands; two fell down. Hermione threw back her head, shards of glass tinkling onto the floor like gobstones, and spun around. "Get behind the statue!"

Hearing them scramble to obey, she advanced cautiously on the large hall window, now framed in jagged shards of glass. Her shoes crunched on the debris and she sighted down her wand. Her hands were bleeding. The sunlight dazzled her eyes and she squinted trying to see out.

A mounted broom appeared so suddenly out of the sunlight that Hermione narrowly avoided a head-on collision. She spun out of the way, realizing too late that she'd cleared the way for the Death Eater's entrance. She twisted around quickly, placing her back at the open window.

"_Impedimenta!_" Her spell missed the Death Eater, but caught the tail-end of his broom. The hooded man lurched forward and fell off as his transport slammed to a sudden stop.

"_Expelliarmus!_" She cried. The spell scorched the stones at his feet and he jumped back, wand out.

"_Stupefy!_" He snarled, loosing a vicious jet of red light. Hermione ducked and the spell flew out the window. She straightened quickly, knowing it was to her advantage. With the light at her back she could see the Death Eater fairly clearly, but he was having significantly more difficulty.

His next stunner went horribly wide, and before he could recover she'd cast "_Furnunculus!_" and great seeping boils broke out all over his face. He howled in pain and clawed off his mask, now covered in pus. Enraged, he charged her – something she had not been expecting. She barely managed to squeak out "_locomotor mortis_" before his hands closed around her neck.

Her hurried hex worked, which ended up being rather unfortunate for her. The Death Eater's legs locked together at the knees and he collapsed on top of her. The back of her head slammed into the windowsill, her wand flying from her hand, and the man fell heavily on top of her, large hands still crushing her windpipe.

Head reeling, Hermione gasped and floundered, searching out the wand that she'd dropped. She couldn't breathe. Desperate, she lashed out with her free hand, nails raking bloody furrows down the man's face. He reared backwards with a yell, yanking her half-way up by the neck. He removed one hand only to replace it with his wand. He jabbed the smooth wood against her throat, hard enough to bruise. "Say goodbye," he sneered. "Avada-"

"_Stupefy_!" The spell came out in a gasp, but it was enough and the red light hit him dead on – Hermione's wand shoved up under his ribs. The spell propelled him upwards and he hit the floor a few feet away, unconscious. Hermione scrambled to her feet, chest heaving, but unwilling to believe the Death Eater was truly knocked out. She continued to eye his immobile body until she'd regained her breath.

"_Incarcerous_." Great thick ropes appeared out of thin air and twisted around the unconscious man, effectively binding him. Satisfied now that he would no longer give them any trouble, Hermione directed him towards the window with "_Levicorpus!_"

Knotted rope dangling, the encumbered Death Eater was hoisted up by the ankle and levitated out the broken window and then downwards. She'd nearly deposited him when there was a sudden scream.

"HARRY LOOK OUT!"

"Shit!" Hermione's spell severed, dropping the man's body the last few feet. Another Death Eater on broomstick was hurtling towards her. "_REPARO!_"

Glass whizzed past her, slicing at her robes and barely missing her ducked head in its eagerness to return to the window. Sparkling shards lifted from the tangle of her curls and shot out from underneath her shoes. In mere seconds the window was whole and solid once more in its frame. The Death Eater was nearly upon them when she shouted a hasty Imperturbable charm.

She jumped back as the man collided with the window, but her charm held firm and the broom handle glanced off the Imperturbed glass and sent the Death Eater tumbling away. He quickly righted himself and shot towards the next window; Hermione barely managed to charm it in time. They raced in this fashion down the length of the hall, her wand always a fraction of a second faster than his broom. At the last window he pulled up short and they glared at one another through the colored glass. Hermione's chest heaved with exertion and she could taste adrenaline in the back of her throat. With a threatening gesture he turned about and sped off, shooting around the high turret of the North Tower and disappearing.

"You're hurt..."

Hermione looked down at the second-year, his peers appearing from a nearby classroom where they'd taken refuge. She managed something like a smile and took his hand again. "Never mind that. Let's get you inside."

At the base of the Tower, the blond girl gave the password to the portrait and it swung open to reveal the plush confines of the Ravenclaw common room. Hermione ushered them quickly inside, brushing aside their thanks asking instead for the seventh year prefect.

She grabbed the boy that appeared by the collar and dragged him down to the entryway. "You stand right here and you guard these kids," she ordered. "That's your job now – wand up!"

He was too shocked to argue. "You're bleeding," was what he said.

"Stun anyone who comes through that portrait."

* * *

Outside Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione was accosted by Rosmerta's long absent relative. She'd borrowed another portrait's horse to get there all the faster and it was grave news indeed that she imparted then. Yes, the battle was going on at the bottom of the Grand Staircase and it looked dire in either case; but more and more portraits were reporting break-ins from around the castle.

"If they aren't stopped...the staff will be surrounded!"

"I'm afraid so dear, but what can _we_ do?" The horse paced anxiously as she spoke.

They needed help that was for sure. "Do any of the portraits here have frames in the Ministry?"

"Of course! But they've already gone for help dear."

Hermione snorted. The help of the Ministry was never quite up to anyone's expectations or needs. No, the Ministry's help would take paperwork, planning, _time_. She had a very different idea. "Can you find one to go back?" She asked hastily. "I need to get a message to Alastor Moody, the Auror."

"_Mad-Eye_ Moody?" The blonde exclaimed, clearly alarmed. "Heavens _why_, girl?"

"Because he might just be our only hope for defending Hogwarts," she answered truthfully. She couldn't remember how much influence he'd had in this time; though, it was clear he was already just as mad.

"Oh my," the portrait whispered to herself; she looked scandalized. Realizing that Hermione was already heading down the hall, she spurred the horse onwards – jumping chaotically through the frames to catch up with her. "And the message?" she asked, losing breath.

"Tell him…" Hermione racked her brain for a suitable warning, but all her cleverness had deserted her since the siege had begun. "Tell him..._Hogwarts needs order_." It was as cryptic as she could manage on such short notice; at least there was no doubt of its meaning. She could only hope the Order was larger now than it was in the future – they'd need all the help they could get.

If Rosmerta's great-grandmother was at all curious about the message, she didn't pry. Instead, she quickly turned round her mount and galloped off, promising as she did that the message would be delivered with all haste.

Hermione disappeared down the tunnel of a particularly menacing gargoyle; imperturbing windows as she went.

* * *

After the incident with the Death Eaters outside Ravenclaw Tower, Hermione's advance was significantly slowed. True to the portrait's word, more and more masked figures were appearing all across the castle. Some carried brooms; others, she noticed, looked a bit sooty and disheveled – though, she couldn't imagine Dumbledore would allow people to go Flooing in and out of the castle fireplaces. Otherwise, Voldemort could've just dropped in whenever he fancied.

How _desperately_ she wanted to be down in the Great Hall; in the thick of things, helping out where it seemed help was most ardently needed. However, she was not as naïve to think that should she simply ignore the Death Eaters now seeping in from Merlin knows where, they would just go away. No, no – as much as she wanted to see Dumbledore alive and still standing, to fight along side him as she done at the Final Battle, it was quite clear that her work behind the scenes would do far more good than another fighter in the throng.

If the new Death Eaters came at the battle from behind...

She waited for a sooty figure to pass by her hiding spot, then whispered a vehement "_stupefy!_" at its back. The woman gave a sharp feminine cry, and then crumpled to the floor. Hermione petrified the unconscious body and levitated it quickly into a nearby classroom before continuing on, map in hand.

She dispatched another Death Eater in this fashion in one of the side corridors and then descended the stairs at the far end of the main hall, reappearing again near the statue of Boris the Bewildered. Almost immediately another Death Eater turned the corner and she threw herself behind the rather large statue to avoid being seen. The masked figure – another woman given the stature – paused at the juncture, dark eyes searching left and right. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth determined not to let even her shallow breaths give her away.

The woman looked back over her shoulder, almost expectantly, then abruptly turned left with a bit of a huff. Slowly lowering her hand, Hermione swallowed bracingly and – wand out – took to pursuit of the wandering Death Eater. The woman was prone to stopping suddenly at intersections – in fact, she did so at each such juncture she encountered – and though Hermione was keen to use one of these such delays to her advantage, the woman always stopped just past an obstructing statue or tapestry, or half-turned round a corner so that Hermione was never quite sure of her aim.

She was patient, however; willing to wait as long as it took for her to get a shot off without putting herself in any danger. The intruding Death Eaters were getting more vicious – quicker to hex – than their predecessors, making Hermione extremely grateful once again that she had the Marauder's Map in her possession.

The woman was stopped again – this time standing less concealed than she probably thought, behind a large vase that left her entire upper half exposed. Hermione peered around the suit of armor that was her current refuge and sighted down her wand. The Stunner was on her lips when something caught her eye and she looked up. There, reflected in the shiny cheek of the knight's silver helmet, a dark figure was growing larger by the second. Then it reared up and Hermione saw a wand held high, prepared to attack.

She flung herself away from the statue and into the open hallway with a rushed "_Stupefy!_" hitting the surprised woman as she turned to defend herself. The suit of armor exploded in a stupendous cacophony of sound and clatter. Rolling into the large vase, Hermione scrambled to her feet just as the Death Eater collapsed in a silent, motionless heap beside her.

Hermione's shoulder ached horribly – from the collision with the floor or the vase's marble pedestal she didn't know; either way she ignored it and shot back a jinx, not waiting to see if it made contact before running off down the hall.

Judging by the echo of footsteps shortly after, she figured her Jelly-Legs jinx had missed the mark. Luckily, it was only the one Death Eater now chasing her; he hadn't stopped to revive his comrade. A foreign curse clipped the floor at her heels; the heat of it causing the floor's mortar to bubble and the rubber sole of her trainer to melt. More than slightly alarmed she praised the man's poor aim.

Her next jinx – the Tarantallegra spell that had so effectively incapacitated Neville at the Department of Mysteries – succeeded in hitting its target. While he sorted himself out, Hermione took the momentary lapse to duck round a corner and slip behind a tapestry of Helga Hufflepuff. Her hot breath was hitting the back of the portrait's neck, causing Helga to giggle loudly until Hermione shushed her, vehemently praying the stupid portrait hadn't been heard.

She didn't see the Death Eater turn down the hall; though, her gaze had been switching anxiously from the gap along the floor to the slit between the tapestry and wall. Suddenly the tapestry was ablaze. Helga was screaming. Hermione batted the roll of fabric out of the way and stumbled out into the hallway, beating the licks of flame from her sleeves. She saw that Helga had ripped her threaded self from the woven landscape, leaving a gaping black silhouette – then her focus was entirely on the Death Eater, who she'd luckily managed to get caught in the flaming tapestry during her hasty escape.

"_Impedimenta!_"

The Death Eater stumbled back in slow motion, the curse working against him, and Hermione – shoulder screaming and her wand hand red and blistering from the burst of flame – turned tail and ran.

She darted around corners, twisting and turning in an attempt to lose her pursuer. Her impediment jinx had only managed to infuriate him further and when he shook it off he was running after her full speed, spells flying. Hermione shot her own curses back over her shoulder, never stopping to see if they took effect – always running, never looking back.

She passed doorways to classrooms, storage cupboards, and offices – the bare halls giving her hardly any cover. Once she started risking looks back over her shoulder, the Death Eater was always slipping behind another bend in the hall, or peeking around corners. It was no wonder her spells went awry. She needed to get back to the main corridor where it was wider, more open. Toppling an ugly arrangement of brass gobstones behind her as a diversion, she veered right and wound her way through the maze of side halls.

She took the fourth corridor at a sprint and whipped around the corner only to run smack into Peter Pettigrew.

"Harry!?" He squeaked loudly, only to be pushed roughly back as Hermione regained her feet and shouted "_PROTEGO!_"

The shield charm was so strong that the angry red stunner hit the glimmering bubble and snapped angrily apart, jumping off the sides like tiny shocks of lighting, missing entirely the surprised onlookers now guarded by her enormous shield charm. The Death Eater was too shocked, too frustrated by her magical feat that he didn't find cover fast enough, and her next spell – "_Sectumsempra!_" – hit him straight in the chest.

Blood spurted from his face and chest in a great spray of crimson and he hit the floor with a scream of agony. He was in too much pain from the great, magical gashes – like an invisible sword had sliced him – to stand, much less recover the wand he'd dropped a few feet away. Hermione, satisfied that he'd tasted his own cruelty, stunned him after a mere second of pain – putting him mercifully into an unconscious sprawl.

"Harry! Where – that was—"

Hermione ignored Sirius' flabbergasted half-words – too filled with adrenaline to care that she'd unwittingly stumbled upon the very people she'd wanted most to avoid. With the castle under attack it seemed like a small thing to worry over. She didn't even realize the full significance of the scene before her; Snape and Malfoy standing just outside the prefects' bathroom in something like a Mexican standoff with the four Marauders.

"Brilliant, Granger – lead them right to us," Lucius snapped, wand still pointed at James and vice versa.

Old annoyance sprang up from a place inside her that seemed quite capable of forgetting their present danger, and she glowered at him heatedly. "Oh shut it, Malfoy. How was I to know you were standing in the hall – clear as day?" Her voice was reflexively low, resuming Harry's soft baritone with a fluidity that made Lucius blink very slowly.

"Jesus, Harry!" This from Remus. "You're bleeding!"

Hermione acted as if she hadn't heard the remark – _obviously_ she was bleeding – and squatted down next to the fallen Death Eater; Snape – confident in his safety – broke off his glaring match with Sirius to join her, carefully keeping his robes out of the blood. "Do you think he recognized you?"

He snorted disdainfully. "I'm not a Legilimens, Granger," he quipped tartly. Hermione's sudden grin was quickly hidden by turning her face; though it was apparent he had seen it.

"Right then; _Obliviate!_" A blue-white light shot from the end of her wand and dissipated over the unconscious wizard's face. Nudging Snape to take his place in guarding the trio, Lucius added a quick, but brilliant Confundus Charm to the mix – ensuring that the now addle-brained Death Eater wouldn't even remember where he was, let alone who he'd seen.

"Interesting spell, by the way," Snape commented in a low voice. His eyes met hers for a second; his gaze holding a weighty implication. Hermione had completely forgotten that she'd learned the devastating curse from Snape's own sixth year potions text; she allowed a little smirk to cross her lips.

"Harry!" Peter was peering down the hall at her; clearly unwilling to venture much closer to the Slytherins, but happily expectant all the same. "That was – I mean, _wow!_ Brilliant, really, what you—You're really back then?"

She sighed, rubbing at her shoulder as she stood. "Hullo, Peter," she murmured. Try as she might to be annoyed, she couldn't help a weak smile – Peter's enthusiasm had always been rather contagious.

"What do you mean 'hullo, Peter'?!" Sirius exploded hotly. "You disappear for three whole days; room's an utter mess, and you—"

"Shut up, Sirius!" She hissed. "Do you want more Death Eaters catching us out in the open?" His handsome face turned rather red. She brandished her wand. "And my personal business is none of your concern."

Remus looked slightly nervous. His wand was out too, but it seemed more as if he'd drawn it as a precautionary measure for it remained at his side, despite the anxious scene before him – a duel ready to begin at any moment. "We were just worried, you know," the prefect said in an appeasing sort of tone. "Sirius didn't mean to pry –"

"I can speak for myself, Moony!" The tall boy barked. Remus' eyes narrowed with a sudden anger that shifted as quickly to crossness as it had appeared in the first place. Hermione was sure she hadn't been the only one to notice. It wasn't wise to test a werewolf's patience so close to the full moon.

"You're ability to keep that large mouth shut, however, is less assured," Snape sneered, regaining their attention; his own wand snapping back towards Sirius as the boy sputtered something unintelligible in his embarrassment. Hermione quickly generated ropes from her wand and once again secured the restrained Death Eater in a nearby cupboard.

"Shut it, Snivellus!" He finally managed to articulate. "The first Death Eater I'll be taking down tonight is _you_!"

"Oh don't be ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed; shock apparent.

"You don't know them like we do," James insisted. His voice softened to something like concern. "_Trust_ me, Harry."

"'Trust me, Harry' – how noble of you, Potter..." Lucius quipped. "Thicker than most Gryffindors, aren't you..."

"Shut your bloody mouth or I'll curse it off," James spat.

Hermione's cheeks had warmed significantly at James' gentle words, but it was easy enough to play off with the anger now surging up inside her. "I know them better than you think," she remarked, with as much seething innuendo as she could muster. It was enough for James' eyes to flick to her for a moment, his face utterly shocked.

"If a jinx so much as crosses your mind I'll hex you myself," she swore. Anger – so often a clouder of judgment – now cleared her vision and for the first time she saw quite clearly what was before her.

The six of them were just standing there – facing off with one another; neither the Gryffindors nor the Slytherins were in their common rooms as they should have been, and it was a miracle they hadn't yet been attacked. Remus and Peter both looked anxious. Loyalty kept the Marauders together; the two boys ready – though obviously reluctant – to lend assistance to their hot-tempered leaders now squaring off with their most hated and despised rivals.

No longer influenced by James and Sirius' attentions and combined charm, Hermione found their short tempers and continuing feud with the Slytherins to be rather unattractive qualities. She had known Sirius to be rather harsh and angry at times during their short acquaintance through Harry, but her friend had never mentioned how cruel his father had been as a boy. Perhaps he hadn't known. She remembered James' pompous disregard for her upon her arrival and wondered briefly how Lily Evans had ever fallen in love with him.

Hermione wondered too at the Slytherins, utterly shocked that the intelligent pair had allowed so base an influence as petty animosity to lure them from the safety of the bathroom. They of all people should not have been standing clear in the middle of the hall – as plain a target as any. It was all so incredibly stupid.

At the moment, Hermione wanted to shake them all very badly.

James had recovered from his shock, but continued shooting surreptitious looks her way as though he were afraid she'd disappear again. Sirius, now itching for conflict, was shooting a variety of less subtle scowls and glares at the couple, his face brimming with indignation at Hermione's reproach and the following dismissal of him in favor of James. Hermione, however, was not in the mood to assuage James' fears, nor to sooth Sirius' wounded pride.

Her own anger had risen. She'd been through one – and now two – wizarding wars, had seen _so_ much, that for a moment she couldn't comprehend the irrationality before her. How could they _argue_ – how could they stand here like it was any other day, _oblivious_ to the fact that people were out there actually fighting – _real _people, _really_ dying.

Dumbledore needed help – desperately; but he wouldn't find it here. They were too young, Hermione realized, much too young for wars and battles. Some might hesitate to call them innocent, but she didn't – she, who had stopped being a naïve little girl at the age of eleven, stopped thinking the real world was a place outside her own when she helped Harry past the Devil's Snare, the potions room, and on to the Sorcerer's Stone – she saw in the boys before her an innocence to the world that she had lost a long, long time ago.

In that moment...she felt horribly alone.

"Harry...?" Peter laid a soft hand on her elbow. "Harry, are you alright?"

"I hardly think not," she murmured. Remus had shifted to stand closer to the pair. Though he looked greatly relieved to see her again, the tension in his shoulders was visible – who knew what sorts of rants and crazed plottings he'd had to endure the past three days. She hadn't meant to put him in the middle of what was soon to be an insuperable rift between herself and the Marauders' leaders.

James and Malfoy were arguing again; loud enough to make Remus cringe. Hermione was at a loss. "Can't you do something?" she asked with little hope. He shifted anxiously, not meeting her eyes. "I…I _can't_."

"Like anyone would trust _your_ word, Malfoy! You're a lying snake!"

"Just because you'd rather not believe it doesn't make truth a lie," came the caustic retort.

James was surprisingly quick to respond in turn. "And as much as you might fancy your elaborate little stories – well-crafted lies aren't truths either!"

"It might surprise you, Potter," Lucius said slowly. "To know just how _alarmingly_ often my so-called 'stories' _are_ the truth."

"I don't believe you!"

"_Naturally_ – idiotic Gryffindor—"

"STOP! STOP IT!" Hermione yelled. "JUST STOP IT! I can't believe this! The castle is under attack – people could be _dying_ – and you're standing here _bickering?!_"

"They started it," James insisted, not taking his eyes, or his wand, off the two Slytherins. Lucius scoffed audibly.

"I highly doubt that," she shot back; Snape looked smug.

James readjusted his grip on his wand. He licked his lips quickly and said in a rush; "They said you came to see them, that you-"

"_That_ is not picking a fight, James," Hermione interrupted, exasperation obvious. "_That's_ the truth."

Sirius scowled. "When were you going to see us then, eh?"

Hermione glanced sidelong at the Slytherins. Neither moved to say anything. "That's not the point," she said briskly; no need to make the situation worse. "Death Eaters are trying to get in all over the castle – you've got to get back to the Tower."

"What?! No way!" James yelled. Sirius echoed him.

"They taught us how to fight," Remus said softly. He'd finally lifted his head – striking grey eyes boring straight into hers. "We've got to help, Harry."

Peter looked thoughtful. Hermione took it as a blessing that at least one person here was giving the situation serious consideration rather than rushing stubbornly headlong into trouble.

Their words hardly dissuaded her and she remained resolute. She had to get them back to the Tower. "They didn't prepare you for this. You're not ready-"

"And you are?" Sirius lowered his wand; risky, but Hermione knew Lucius and Severus were too smart to start something now. A brawl now could expose them, or worse – get them killed. "What makes you so much better?" he demanded loudly. "I don't see you hurrying back to the common room."

Hermione spoke through clenched teeth; "Lower your voice..."

"What are you doing at Hogwarts-" he advanced a step towards her. "Did you get kicked out of your old school – is that why you're here?"

"Padfoot-" Remus' voice held a warning.

"-what did you do that could land you in Azkaban –"

"Sirius!" Remus' wand was out; Hermione, stiffly staring Black down, hadn't seen him lift it. Remus often sat by while James and Sirius plotted and pranked, but when it came to something serious he was the only one capable of keeping the Marauders under control. He was exerting that power now.

"I don't believe him, Moony," Sirius' voice was low. "All books and theories-" Hermione winced automatically at the all-too-familiar barb "-I've never even seen him in a proper duel. Why can _he_ fight, but not us?"

"Finally becoming aware of your own insignificance, Black?" Lucius drawled.

Sirius, in his rage and frustration, forgot the fact that he was a wizard, forgot the fact he could've hexed Lucius, and instead swung his fist heavily at Malfoy's face. Hermione moved to intervene too late.

Sirius fist hit the side of her face with an audible **crack!**

"Sonofa-" Hermione, having now been caught in the middle of their feud for the second time, threw a punch of her own.

Snape beat her to it.

Blood poured from Sirius' nose where Severus' fist had made solid contact. It looked broken; though, Hermione could barely see through the blood and Sirius' own fingers. Served him right.

Hermione frowned at Lucius' slow, mocking claps. "Thanks," she told Severus, now rubbing at his knuckles. He gave her a shrewd look; one she couldn't decipher.

"I wanted to hit him," he deadpanned by way of explanation.

"So did I," she muttered and swore she saw Snape smile.

Lucius cleared his throat and they both looked over. "As entertaining as this is –" he gestured to the bloody Sirius fending off a well-meaning Peter with a scowl "- you were correct in your assumption that we are...running out of time?"

"Shub it Mulfoy," Sirius garbled through the blood.

"Charming," Lucius sneered. "Going to bleed all over the Death Eaters?"

"We're going to fight them!" James seethed. He raised his wand. "Starting with _you_!"

Hermione drew her own wand now. "James, no way!" She edged slowly in-between the two sides; her cheek still ached from the last time she'd intervened. "Didn't you hear me before - don't even _think_ about it."

For once, James held tight the leash of his anger. He must have remembered the last time she'd been at the business end of his wand because he quickly lowered it when she placed herself in front of him. "You keep defending them," he gritted out. "And you keep attacking them," she answered. "_Don't_ start something now."

He scowled hard.

Hermione sighed and lowered her wand. "Please...just go back to the Tower," she begged.

He shook his head roughly. "You may be some kind of super warrior – fine; but we're not witless first years. You'll need our help, Harry."

_You can't help me, James. None of you can._ She didn't want to think what would happen to the timeline if one of them got killed today. Instead, she said:

"I can't be worrying about you while the Death Eaters storm the castle-"

"_Harry!"_ James abandoned all pretense of dueling and in two steps was at her side, hands grabbing at her arms. His face was all earnest determination as he lowered it to hers. "I'm coming with you!"

"DAMNIT JAMES! FOR _ONCE_ IN YOUR LIFE DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!"

She turned away quickly – her own outburst shocking her – realizing too late that tears were burning her eyes. It hurt to breath. Wordlessly she cursed James bloody Potter and his insufferable bravado. Then a hand touched her shoulder so suddenly that she jumped. She backed quickly away from James, shaking her head – something that seemed to bolster her resolve.

"_Petrificus totalus!"_ she cast so quickly he didn't have time to look shocked. James' stiff body teetered then hit the floor face-first.

"Whub'r oo duwing?!" exclaimed Sirius. He froze midstep, Hermione's wand now pointed straight at his chest.

"Remus," she managed through a tightened throat. "…_please_."

The werewolf met her eyes over Sirius shoulder and a great deal of unspoken words passed between them. "I'll get them back to Gryffindor," he assented softly and she let out a shuddering breath.

"Thank you," she choked out. She stumbled back one step, two, then turned and ran.

She ran past Peter and the prefect's bath; she ran past Lucius and Severus and then a hand closed on her wrist, pulling her back. She fell against a solid chest and the hand softened to the barest touch, an arm was around her waist and she was looking up into Severus' face. He kissed her.

The hands melted away and it was as if she'd never stopped running, her feet carrying her swiftly down the corridor and towards the battle. She never looked back and he didn't follow.

"Don't do anything stupid, Granger."

* * *


	15. Help

**Completed:** 8/3/07 7:03 AM  
**Posted: **8/24/07 1:15PM (due to technical difficulties)

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T [language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _You all know why this took so long. (Damn new-age technology that can't withstand falling off a bed). To answer most of the questions that I can remember – yes, DH was awesome. Yes, I'm super sad it's over. No, I will not stop writing harry potter fanfiction. No, I'm not abandoning D&C. No, I will not tell you what's going g to happen:)

As promised, I wrote a double header for you – the second half will be posted tonight when it's done being edited.

* * *

Very carefully, Hermione slid open the compartment door and looked out. The flickering half-light emanating form the torches glinted across metal and glass within the Trophy room. She glanced around again, but – as the map had said – the room was empty. She crawled out of the passageway and stood quickly. Tapping the entryway with her wand, the wall's wood paneling slid back into place without so much as a seam to give away its existence.

There, in the relative safety of the Trophy Room, she prepared herself for what lay ahead. Hexes, curses, and jinxes sailed through her head, her wand twitching unconsciously as her hand recalled the patterns. Then she hastened to the door and cracked it open.

Professor Flitwick was valiantly staving off three Death Eaters – disappearing easily beneath tables and reappearing again across the room. Slipping her wand out of the gap in the door, Hermione sighted at the nearest Death Eater and whispered "_stupefy!_"

Flitwick gave a startled squeak as his attacker collapsed and one of the Death Eaters whirled towards the door. Hermione flung herself into the Great Hall before the approaching Death Eater could trap her in the Trophy Room. A curse hit the door above her head, leaving a large scorch mark.

Hermione scrambled to her feet and ran, ducking behind the cover of a table as another curse flew her way. She shot one back, but her opponent dove for cover as well, shoving benches aside. Panting hard, she slid sideways across the floor as discreetly as she could manage, ducking as tiny Flitwick scurried down the table over her head. She watched him leap spectacularly onto the floor to dodge a sparking curse.

Her own opponent had become uncomfortably silent. Touching her wand to the aged flagstones, Hermione murmured "_Serpensortia!_" and a large opalescent snake slithered from the wandtip. It curled into a massive heap of scaly coils, its body as thick as her thigh, triangular head bobbing back and forth.

"Go," she said and the serpent, needing no further instructions, darted forward, like water breaking upon the shore, and made for the hidden Death Eater; all its great length stretched out behind, reptilian body whispering roughly across the stone as it slithered away.

Hermione had to wait only seconds; a high scream erupted from the far end of Ravenclaw's table. A table was overturned and the Death Eater was suddenly visible; mask gone and hood thrown back. Blood dripped down her pale neck and stained the hand now trying to staunch the wound's crimson flow. Even as she stumbled back, Hermione's snake lashed out lightening fast, fangs sinking into the arm thrown up in defense. The woman screamed again.

Hermione stunned her quickly, while the snake still held her tight, and vanished the giant serpent as it began to slither over the woman's unconscious body and onto the floor. She hurried towards Flitwick as he incapacitated his own opponent.

"Professor!"

He squeaked loudly and jumped, a short bang issuing from his wand. "Mr. Granger!" He exclaimed, both shocked and alarmed. "Look here! What-"

"No time!" She said in exasperation. "The Headmaster needs help!" She burst into the Entrance Hall at a run, the Charms professor on her heels.

Bursts of green shot over her head and she threw herself to the floor, retaliating in kind as soon as she was able. There were people everywhere – the foyer seemed almost full to the brim; bodies, spells, and shouted words filling up the space.

Run. Curse. Dodge. Run.

For fifteen minutes all she could do was react; don't look around, don't stop running. She was in the thick of it and there was no time to rest, no time to think. Insitinct took over. Everything felt rushed; every dodge, every curse just reactions. But the minutes stretched into what felt like hours – so much straining to fit in so small a time.

Fire exploded from her left and she scrambled out of the way. Dousing the flames on her robe with Aguamenti, she ducked as another fireball whizzed overhead. A Death Eater appeared suddenly beside her, wand blazing. Dodge. Block. Retaliate. She ran for a better position and nearly ran headlong through an ongoing duel. She shot a quick hex at Sprout's opponent and then dove between the two combatants seconds before the Death Eater fired a curse in return; the jet of light hit Hermione's pursuer square in the face. Pulling herself behind a statue, she watched as his face contorted – forcing off his mask – then went slack and sallow. His face looked like it was melting – his eyelids dropping, ears sliding down to his chin. In seconds he was a pile of a jelly on the floor.

Sprout seemed just as horrified as Hermione, for she attacked with renewed vigor – easily disarming the vicious Death Eater and glued his hands to his face with a creative jinx.

For the first time since joining the battle, she had the chance to look around and she did not waste it.

Slughorn's massive form was easily spotted – a great plum-robed beacon amidst the chaos. He seemed to be having some difficulty, but even as she watched he was aided by the Astronomy professor. She scanned more fervently and – with a relief that nearly floored her – found McGonagall still standing. Not only standing, but the tartan-clad witch was engaged in a double duel with two monstrously huge Death Eaters and presenting a formidable challenge.

A few yards away stood Albus Dumbledore.

At the center of the hall – surrounded by a wide circle of Death Eaters – he seemed to be in the eye of the storm. Curses collided above his aged head and exploded in a shower of sparks; hexes scorched the stones at his feet; jinxes whizzed by so closely, his beard fluttered in the breeze. None of them hit their mark. A dozen spells flying at him and not so much as a singed hem? Not even Dumbledore was that lucky. Either he'd found an extremely powerful Self-Shielding Charm, or he'd drank an entire cauldron of _Felix Felicis_.

Hermione's pondering was cut short by another explosion of flame above her head. Now thoroughly fed up with such tactics, she sought out the pyrotechnic Death Eater responsible, only to have her eyes catch on McGonagall's tall form as the stately witch fell under the onslaught.

She was halfway across the hall in an instant, throwing hexes left and right without looking, intent only on forging a path. Bodies converged around her, the chaos increasing with each passing moment, and she shoved her way through – throwing elbows and fists indiscriminately – not caring whether or not it was friend or foe now blocking her way.

As the first Death Eater advanced on the fallen professor, Hermione's Knockback Jinx hit him dead in the face. The force of her spell propelled him upwards with such strength that for a few seconds he was completely airborne. Before he'd even crashed back onto the floor, Hermione was firing another spell into the midst of the masked fighters – scattering them with another conjured serpent.

She threw herself – bravely, rashly – into the throng and stood protectively over McGonagall's body; not even daring to see if she was still alive. She ducked a Cruciatus and retaliated with a Blasting Curse. The next spell – a stunner – that rocketed her way was barely stopped by a quick Shield Charm and was sent ricocheting back into the crowd. More Death Eaters were coming at her from behind – one nearly close enough to touch McGonagall's robes. She blasted them back – spinning, turning; desperately defending herself and the body of her professor. Later, she couldn't say how she made it out of that gauntlet alive.

After those first frantic, heart-stopping seconds, Hermione knew she wouldn't last more than a handful of minutes if she kept this up, and at the first opportunity used a half-second lull in the battle to cast a powerful, non-verbal spell. A great ring of fire shot from the end of her wand, expanding outwards like a fiery wall of defense – forcing the Death Eaters back or risk the magical flames. Protected – if only for a short time – Hermione dropped to her knees beside the prone form of Professor McGonagall and, whispering "_Ennervate!_", felt for a pulse.

A fiercely drumming heartbeat thundered against her fingertips.

"Oh thank God."

As McGonagall came back to her senses, she immediately raised her wand in defense. "Where—" her eyes shuttered open. "_Mr. Granger!?_"

"No time, professor. I need your—"

A spell exploded at her heels and the floor disappeared beneath her. Her fingers clawed sand as she struggled to free her wand, each kick of her legs pulling her deeper and deeper. More quicksand poured from the Death Eater's wand and over the flames in a great arc and then Hermione was choking on it. The pristine white granules pooled in her curls, cascaded in rivers down her cheeks, caught in her eyes, and slipped down her robes – pounds and pounds of sand weighing her down.

The tip of her wand broke the surface and with her last breath screamed "_Sectumsempra!_"

Then she was laying flat on her back, cold stones beneath her and still covered in white sand. As she coughed up the remnant of the jinx, her attacker screamed in agony from the far side of the fire. Hermione forced herself to her feet. McGonagall looked aghast at the bleeding, writhing Death Eater. "What—" the older witch's gasp cut through her words. "The wall! It's failing!"

Hermione whirled around in despair, but it was true. The fiery ring that had kept them moderately safe was dying and beginning to smoke. The Death Eaters had noticed too and were redoubling their previous efforts to extinguish the magical flame. A Stunner made it through the barricade and knocked McGonagall's hat clean off her head. Hermione retaliated with a hex – they were starting to break through.

Hermione was suddenly struck by an idea. "The chandelier, Professor!" She cried. McGonagall's head craned to look at the massive chandelier hanging seven floors above their heads; she hesitated. "_THE CHANDELIER!_"

There was no time for uncertainty in a battle; McGonagall pointed her wand over her head and called out; "_Bombarda!_"

The spell shot from her wand like a bullet, surging up, up – faster, higher. For a split-second Hermione feared it wouldn't make it, and then the great golden chain snapped under the spell's devastating impact. Free from its ceiling anchorage, two tons of gold and glass hurtled towards them. The stairs, which had never succumb to an order in their entire existence, had all been ripped from their landings and sent to float around the ceiling – most likely on Dumbledore's order. There was nothing to slow the chandelier's descent.

Hermione's first spell glanced off the side of it as it passed the fourth floor. She tried again – with more determination – and this time her levitation charm looped around the giant object and held. The weight, however, proved too much for Hermione's meager spell and it continued downwards slowly, "Help me, Professor!"

McGonagall's own spell lassoed the chandelier with ease and together they pulled the massive thing from over their heads. They swung their wands as one and the ring of Death Eaters was blasted apart by metal and candlefire. The chandelier toppled end over end, like a spherical battering ram as the Hall cleared around them.

"Headmaster!"

Hermione barely had time to match her wand-stroke with McGonagall's as the older witch reacted quickly to defend Dumbledore. They directed the light so quickly the momentum snapped their spells' hold and the great behemoth crash-landed in front of the aged wizard – trapping half a dozen of his opponents beneath it.

The old man's eyes were solemn as they ran to him; he looked exceptionally tired. "My thanks, Minerva. And—" he looked slightly surprised to be presented with Hermione's battered and bloody figure. "_Mr. Granger?_"

"Albus," Minerva hissed sharply. "There's too many of them. His forces are larger than we ever imagined."

Hermione protected the three of them behind a large Shield Charm as another explosion of fire spiraled at them. In turn. Dumbledore gave a precise flick of his wand and – though it had taken both her _and_ McGonagall to levitate – the bent and beaten chandelier quaked slightly and then, with deliberate intent, began to roll. His wand circled gracefully and the balled mass of metal shot off as if kicked by a giant; circling them again and again at sight-blurring speed.

"We should retreat to the higher levels," McGonagall proposed, when they were no longer in danger of immediate attack.

"It's too late for that, Professor," Hermione interjected. "They've broken in all over the castle. I charmed as many windows as I could, but..."

"The students!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"They will be safe in their dormitories for now," Dumbledore assured her. He stunned two Death Eaters with ease, but there were still so many.

"We're outnumbered, Albus," McGonagall said in a low voice. "Without _reinforcements_—"

Hermione suddenly remembered her message and nearly laughed in relief. "Professors! Don't worry—"

"Mr. Granger!" McGonagall interrupted. "I don't know how you got down here, but this is no place for a student. You must return to Gryffindor Tower immediately!"

Hermione gaped at her. "But I've come to help!"

"_Help?!_ You've done enough of that, boy. There's nothing more for you to do but get yourself to safety."

"I must agree with Professor McGonagall, Harry. We've spent too much time on talk; my luck wears thin." The balled chandelier was indeed loosing momentum; dozens of impediment charms fighting against Dumbledore's enchantment.

Hermione very nearly shook the old man by his beard. "But _Professors_! The Order—"

McGonagall gaped at her in shock and then the front was flung open with a **CRASH!**

"—_they're here_."

Moody was the first through the door. His mighty walking stick thundered against the floor, each hit sending Stunners out in every direction. Marlene McKinnon was just behind him; her dark hair streaked liberally with magenta and green. The Death Eaters rallied against them as more unfamiliar faces poured inside the castle. Hermione recognized the Prewitt brothers last of all – backing into the hall with such a wide explosion of spells that their pursuing Death Eaters were utterly barred from following them through the now wide open doors. Once inside, the doors slammed shut, and the pair looked so exceedingly proud of themselves that she was painfully reminded of the twins.

"SPREAD OUT!" bellowed Moody, now advancing towards them. "FORCE THEM TO THE CENTER!"

He blasted the nearest Death Eater with his walking stick; another ran.

"I got yer message, Dumbledore," the Auror said gruffly. Dumbledore said nothing, but when Hermione turned to fend off her own attacker she could feel his curious eyes on her back.

Moody's own, magical, eye swiveled wildly as he turned to consider her with a pleased sort of gravity. "Letting students fight now, eh? Ever use an Unforgivable, boy?"

"_Alastor!_"

"Of course," she answered with a curt nod.

"M-Mr. Granger!" McGonagall was sputtering in shock. She grabbed Hermione firmly by the arm when Moody attempted to lead him off. "His is a _student_, Alastor," she reprimanded sharply. "Come with me, Granger!"

They left Dumbledore in Moody's capable protection, slipped through the fence of Order members and emerged in the relatively clear perimeter of the foyer. McGonagall's grip was painfully tight. "You can be sure that when this is over, Granger, we'll be having a very serious talk."

Hermione looked up at the hawk-face woman with certain dread. She couldn't say she hadn't been expecting it – in the chaos, in the heat of the battle...

So much had been revealed.

Of course, she had no intention of "baring her soul", "confiding" in the professor, or having her secrets "coaxed" out of her. Either she'd withstand McGonagall's interrogation – whether friendly or decidedly not – or she'd have to leave. As if her thoughts had roused it, the Time Turner flared like cold steel across her chest, a sudden reminder of her situation.

Her fingers curled of their own volition, but she made no move to touch it. Instead, she willed the device to return to dormancy and fell into step beside McGonagall. With the Order freshly arrived on scene and the chaos brought by their sudden appearance still rampant, they were able to maneuver across the foyer, if not with ease, than without being ambushed by a mob of Death Eaters.

They hexed without remorse, cutting their own path through the bodies and helping out where they could, all the while moving farther away from the battle. The more fighting Hermione put behind her, the stronger the itch in her spine; the more the back of her neck tingled. Her shoulders were tense, waiting for the curse that she'd never see coming.

Then they could go no further.

They'd reached the far corner of the foyer - McGonagall moving them to the debatable safety of a statue's shadow; Hermione's shoulder's aching with the strain of tension. She looked around and saw nothing. An explosion rocked the floor. _What was McGonagall thinking?_

"I need you to do something for me."

Hermione couldn't stand it any longer. "_What-_"

"Harry!"

A piece of the wall detached itself from the corner and Hermione was suddenly dealing with a shimmering armful of what looked to be her own robes. "What the-"

McGonagall's wand hit the air in front of Hermione's stomach and made an odd sound. The space before her flickered and warped, then the disconcerting feeling of holding air vanished, leaving in its place the tearstained face of Nymphadora Tonks.

"T-Tonks!" She returned the crying girl's bone-crushing hug in a daze, looking over muddy brown hair to McGonagall; face lined with questions.

"She was with me when the attack began," the witch explained. "There was no time to get her out before the stairs were raised."

"So you hid her. Disillusionment Charm."

McGonagall's face was pained. She truly cared for the young metamorphmagus, and the thought that she'd put her in danger clearly plagued her. "I don't know how you got down here Granger, but I need you to get her to the Tower."

"But Professor-"

"That's an order, Granger!"

Something huge exploded behind them; people were screaming. Hermione didn't have time to be torn. She raised her wand.

"I'll keep her safe, Professor."

McGonagall gave a curt nod and then she was gone – back into the melee of bodies and deadly curses.

"I'm scared."

Hermione took Tonks' hand firmly in hers and looked the young witch straight in the eyes. "I won't let _anything_ happen to you," Hermione swore. "I promise."

"I know," she whispered. With a bit more courage she drew her own wand.

"They've taught you Wingardium Leviosa, yes?"

Tonks nodded.

"If anything should happen, I want you to levitate everything you can in their way and then _run_ – do you understand? Run and never stop."

Tonks nodded again.

"Good. Stay low and keep close."

With the young girl in tow behind her, Hermione skirted the perimeter. Constantly aware of the duels around her, she made sure to always keep an Order member between them and the battle. How badly she wanted to be a part of it, but McGonagall had charged her with the protection of young Nymphadora Tonks; an eternal klutz and Sirius' cousin. To abandon the witch now went against everything in her nature – including her Gryffindorian sense of nobility. Now charged, she would see Tonks to safety no matter what.

"Duck!"

Hermione threw them both to the ground as a shot of fire burst over their heads. Tonks' face was horribly white, but Hermione didn't pause. She hauled them immediately to their feet and ran on. Around the foyer, into the Great Hall; sprinting down the endless line of tables, throwing open the Trophy Room door and – "_SUPEFY!_"

"_Protego!_"

The reflexive shield wasn't strong enough to withstand the unexpected Stunner and Hermione was knocked violently backwards but not unconscious. Her heels-over-head tumble threw her into a bench, the boards splintering on impact. She didn't wait to right herself before retaliating and aimed a jinx awkwardly from her sideways sprawl.

"_Distortia!_" She shouted, just as a large Quidditch trophy hit the Death Eater in the back of his knees. He stumbled right into the cloud of gold fog pouring from Hermione's wand and froze.

His mask started slipping upwards, as though pulled by a puppeteer's string. With jerky hands he reached to save it, but let it fly away when his body began to sway. Hermione took the opportunity to shove and pull herself clear of the debris – legs bruised and elbows scrapped; Tonks ran to her side.

"Are you alright, Harry?" She asked, pulling frantically on her robes. "I tried to help, but it was so _heavy_—"

Hermione hefted the golden trophy into her hands and couldn't stop herself from smiling. "You were wonderful, Nymphadora."

Tonks blushed all the way to the ends of her hair.

The brunette readjusted her grip on the trophy handle and eyed the man now standing rigid in the cloud. He was struggling to remain stock-still, his sweating face filled with absolute terror. His eyes looked up quickly, and he promptly shut them with a grimace. He looked vaguely familiar.

"Get in the Trophy Room," Hermione instructed, backing towards the doorway.

"What's wrong with him?"

Hermione glanced to make sure she was being obeyed. "He thinks up is down – one step and he'll fall into endless sky."

Tonks' bright blue eyes went wide. "_Cool_."

"Quite. Inside now." Hermione had recognized the man now, and though she had never met him before she had two generations of experience to help her identify him as a Malfoy. White-blond hair and bright blue eyes, Malfoy Sr. Sr. had all the trademarks of his family line; though, he was a great deal larger and more brutish in the face than his son. Apparently, becoming a Death Eater ran in the family.

_This is for your son_.

Grabbing the handle with both hands, Hermione swung the golden trophy upwards with as much force as she could muster in her present state and released it like a shot-put. The heavy cup flew into the shimmering cloud and collided with a sickly sound into Malfoy's head. He collapsed with the Quidditch cup clattering to the floor beside him and blood dripping from his temple.

Once inside the Trophy Room, Hermione hurried to the back of the room and felt along the wall for the secret passageway she'd taken down. She tapped the paneling with her wand, muttering under her breath as Tonks hovered anxiously over her shoulder. The cracked outline of a square materialized and Hermione shoved it open, pushing Tonks into the tunnel before her. She clambered in after and tapped the panel twice more. It slid noiselessly shut and they were plunged into darkness.

* * *

On the third floor, Hermione stunned two Death Eaters from behind before they could react to the sound of Tonks knocking over an entire line of armored soldiers. The young girl apologized profusely, but Hermione knew then that they'd be far safer from discovery if they walked through the center of the hall – clear of obstacles – than try to skulk along the edges.

The ornate rug muffled their footsteps and her ears strained for the sound of someone being less cautious than them. She itched to check the map, but she couldn't keep track of the paper, her wand, _and_ Tonks all at the same time. She swallowed hard, squeezed Tonks' hand, and tried not to panic.

They walked down the hall like they were on their way to class.

Tonks' long hair swayed behind her in a long, dark curtain. Blood trickled down Hermione's wrist and across the spell-inflicted burns. Sweat made both their hands slick. They turned the corner.

* * *

"Harry..."

"We're gonna be okay. This is nothing."

"It doesn't feel like nothing."

"You'll wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over; like it never happened."

"So this is like a dream?"

"Yeah. Just a dream…"

* * *

On the fifth floor, a group of Death Eaters was trying to access the secret passageway through which the pair had been ascending from the fourth floor just as Hermione moved the statue guarding it. She nearly fell right into the arms of the nearest one, only managing to avoid him by a lucky combination of his delayed reaction to her sudden appearance and her own war-battered instincts. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor just as hands grasped the empty air above her head.

Her palms hit the floor with a **smack!** The man screamed as her foot kicked out at his knee, dislocating it with a snap. Hermione's leg swept the floor in blur of motion, knocking a woman off her feet so quickly that her high-pitched cry barely escaped her lips before she was thrown to her back.

"HARRY!"

Tonks had run to the tunnel's mouth in panic; her anxious face was ashen, her wand hand shaking. One of the Death Eaters noticed her immediately. He turned to attack—

Hermione threw out her wand hand – and for the briefest of moments left herself utterly defenseless. "_Pilantus!_", she ordered and the statue of the wizard leapt back in front of the secret opening, robes spread wide, and Tonks – her face a mix of shock and fear – was sealed inside the passageway.

* * *

No sound passed through the thick stone walls, and in the darkness the minutes passed by with an agonizing slowness. Tonks waited in the tunnel like a ghost – too shocked to conjure herself a light; too frightened to move from the spot where she'd last stood, watching her protector risk himself to keep her safe. She wrapped her arms around herself, though it brought her little comfort as she strained in the dark to hear any sound from beyond the passage.

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears and she desperately wanted to cry.

This was all her fault. If _only_ she hadn't gone to talk McGonagall today. She'd been having trouble with her Transfiguration lesson and – oh, what did it matter! – If Harry hadn't been worried about protecting her, then he could have watched out for himself, taken the safer routes. Now he was cornered and outnumbered. _Torture_ skirted the edges of her thoughts like a shadow at the window.

Her eyes burned with tears. The choking silence seemed suddenly indicative of something sinister.

"H-Harry?" Her throat choked on the name. She tried again. "Harry?!"

Her palms smacked the wizard's back, but the stone remained resolutely fixed. She felt frenziedly for the cracks, wand grating against rock. "HARRY!"

Light shot into the darkness; just a crack – the faintest beam of gold – but it was unfaltering. And then it was expanding exponentially – pinpricks turning to lines turning to bold yellow beams – and the wizard statue was dropping his arms and stepping aside. Tonks blinked rapidly into the shine of light and half-stumbled out of the tunnel, wand held shakily aloft. There was a smell of something burning hanging in the air and as she took another hesitant step into the light her feet slipped across the smooth stones. She looked down.

Blood.

She was standing in a pool of it. It wasn't red, and for a moment the bizarre thought was all her mind was capable of processing. It gleamed darkly across the stones, seeping into the cracks and mortar like ink. She stared at it – almost uncomprehendingly – until all her vision was focused on it. Very slowly, her wide eyes slid to the side, inching over congealing blood and stained floor until the edge of her sight caught on the pale shape of a woman's hand. It lay, half-curled, at the bloody threshold, as white and lifeless as marble. Tonks knew the hand would be connected to a wrist, the wrist to an arm – her eyes started to follow the path of their own accord; her mind shockingly detached from the horror before her ---

"Don't look..."

Harry was sitting propped against the wall as though it was the only thing holding him up. His head hung low over his lap with both legs stretched out before him; one hand cradled there, the other laying limply beside him. He looked cast away – like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Then he raised his head; jerkingly, as if doing so was incredibly painful. The entire left side of his face was covered with blood. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't...you shouldn't see that."

He held his hand out to her, wand balanced awkwardly across his palm. He tried to smile and Tonks burst into tears.

She tripped over her own feet in her haste to help him, but she scrambled over, apologies falling from her lips in a rush. But Harry was still trying to smile, the blood from his face turning his teeth pink. "I'm _fine_...Nymphadora..."

He didn't look fine to her.

His attempts to heal himself came off ungainly and rough; frustration and pain burning in his good eye. Tonks, young as she was, _knew_ she could help. Never had she been more grateful for her own clumsiness, nor her mother's help. Before she'd come to Hogwarts, her mother had made sure she learned all the healing spells she could possibly remember – for cuts, bruises, and bumps. She'd had plenty of practice since then.

"Let me help," she told him. "I can do this!"

Harry didn't even hesitate; he simply lowered his wand. She waited for him to try and dissuade her gently or for that skeptic look to enter his eye – just like all the others.

He smiled at her – though it clearly pained him to do so – and said, "Thank you."

As Tonks set to work, the reason for Harry's lack of coordination was apparent. He'd been using his wand right-handed.

His wand-hand was broken so badly it hardly resembled a hand at all. The fingers jutted out at inhuman angles and the back of his hand looked like it was caving in. The joints had already begun to swell and bruise, turning Harry's pale skin into a puffy and purpling monstrosity. "It got stepped on" was all he'd say. The fact that he avoided her gaze told her it was a lie, but she'd rather believe his lie than know the truth of what could have so badly destroyed his hand.

"Episky!" A finger bone grated across knuckle and snapped back into place. Harry gritted his teeth.

"Episky!" The thin ridges of shattered bone repieced themselves between finger and wrist, the skin rolling across the back of his hand and stretching tight. His hand spasmed in hers and Tonks had to fight not to look up into his face.

It took a dozen more utterances of the spell for Harry's hand to regain its former shape. It was still far from normal, the skin blistered, raw, and red from the Death Eater's cursed fire, and though Tonks longed to heal that too, she had no experience with curses and was afraid to try. Harry flexed his mended fingers experimentally and then switched his wand back to its rightful hand.

Tonks couldn't ignore the worst any longer. The amount of blood pouring down his neck was overwhelming; she couldn't even tell what was causing it. A quick charm and the blood was siphoned away, leaving his face clear but far from healed. "Oh _god!_"

A gaping jagged line cut across Harry's left eye from brow to cheek. The wound was already filling with blood again, rivulets of crimson dripping like tears and catching in his eyelashes. His eye was swollen entirely shut.

"Conjuctivus Curse," he murmured; Tonks hardly heard him, frantically siphoning more blood away. His hand caught her wrist. "There's nothing to be done."

* * *


	16. Time's Up

**Completed:** 8/17/07 1:03 AM  
**Posted: **8/25/07 10:45 AM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T [language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _The second half of the double-header. Enjoy! (Then I'm off to college - so check the LJ for any possible delays)

* * *

Hermione didn't remember much. It had all happened so quickly. The last thing she could recall clearly was seeing Tonks rushing towards her; thinking that she had to stop her. It didn't matter that a trio of Death Eaters was converging on her, that in saving Tonks she might have well condemned herself. She'd chosen to seal off the tunnel knowing full well the consequences in store. _Her hand..._

Hermione looked over at Tonks, her good eye straining in the half-light of the alcove. The young girl was staring at her knees, short black hair sticking up in all directions giving her the appearance of someone who'd just been dragged out of bed. Hermione drew her own knees tighter to her chest. She'd sent a portrait to scout the hallways ahead of them and though she wished the errant gardener she'd chosen would hurry back, she couldn't help but welcome the respite.

Her numerous injuries were weighing her down; she felt her endurance waning. They hadn't been able to do anything for her injured eye but tie a strip of Tonk's blouse around her head. It didn't help much in staunching the continuing flow of blood, and both were continually siphoning away the excess. It did grant her blessed darkness, however, and for that, Hermione was more than grateful. She tried not to think of the lasting damage.

She watched Tonk's eyes shift and land on the makeshift bandage; she felt the cool touch of blood seeping across the cloth.

"Almost there," she whispered. Tonks nodded and pressed her face back into her knees. Hermione shifted and pulled the map out of her back pocket. Footprints lined the corridors above and below them, but the path ahead was relatively clear. A Death Eater was snooping around the Arithmancy classroom, but that was several halls away. If they were quiet they could make it to the last passage without being noticed.

"What's that?"

Bright blue eyes peered over the top of the map. Hermione slipped it away.

"Just a spare bit of parchment."

When the portrait returned, he confirmed her analysis of the situation and with a more discreet glance at the map, Hermione set off down the hall.

"Do your best," she told the younger witch; if she could keep herself together long enough they might make it. She wasn't expecting a miracle. Tonks' cheeks flushed, but almost immediately her young face hardened with determination. She nodded resolutely and let Hermione lead the way.

'Cautious' didn't begin to explain her movement down the hall. She clung to the shadows, skirted low around obstacles, and scarcely scared to breath. They couldn't afford to walk the main halls anymore. A Sticking Charm was muttered under her breath as she dodged a large urn – cementing it to its pedestal. Tonks followed her like a ghost and Hermione spared a quick glance behind her, but Tonks didn't so much as touch the pedestal with the edge of her robes. Perhaps her clumsiness would remain at bay.

Hermione didn't take any chances, though. Wherever they walked, her sticking charms followed. The pace she set was swift. Both danger and pain were chasing at her heels and she knew, despite Tonks' blind trust, that she had only minutes before she either led them astray or collapsed. Blood was dripping down her cheek, the makeshift bandage over her eye now completely saturated, but there wasn't the time to clean it away; the passageway up was getting close. She reached to pull Tonks up alongside her and—

Cloth and metal exploded; Tonks screamed. The tapestry to her left was blasted off the wall – fabric, debris, even the bar itself flying over their heads. Hermione had thrown them both aside just in time, narrowly avoiding a dangerous collision with the brass hangings. Hermione was the first to her feet. Tonks' fluctuating hair was all she'd been able to catch hold of in time, wrenching the girl to the ground with a fistful of her hair – a few long black strands were still caught in her fingers.

Sirius Black stumbled out of the gaping passageway.

"S-Sirius?" She didn't know whether to hit him – frustrated that he hadn't listened – or kiss him – relieved that he was okay.

Then James was clambering awkwardly over the broken rock behind him, supporting the weight of an ashen Remus Lupin. The prefect's arm was around James' shoulders, his hand clutching white-fisted to the taller boy's collar as his friend helped support his weight. Blood trickled from his temple.

Hermione's wand was up in an instant; terror gripping her even as Peter appeared last. Face smeared with dirt, he voiced her fears; "They're coming!"

"H-Harry?"

Tonks! The young girl was struggling to her feet; Hermione hauled her up by her elbow and yanked her back, shouting, "Run!"

Red light exploded out of the destroyed passageway hitting James dead in the back. Hermione watched in surreal disbelief. His mouth formed a silent 'oh', as if it was only mildly surprising, and then he collapsed. Remus fell on top of him, grimacing in pain.

"JAMES!"

"Run!" Hermione yelled; her voice sounded a thousand miles away. "Get out of here!"

Tonks staggered back a step; shocked and horror-struck. Then she whirled around and took off running; frantic footsteps echoing like a drum.

Hermione dodged another red jet and yelled, "_REDUCTO!_"

The mouth of the passageway collapsed in a thunderous avalanche of stone and dust. It bought them only a few seconds of time, but it was better than nothing, and Hermione dropped to her knees next to James' prone body. Sirius met her there. "Is he--?"

"Just stunned," she assured him, her own relief audible. She hastily cast the reviving charm and had only seconds to wait and then James was throwing his arms around her and holding her painfully tight.

"J-James?"

His face was buried in her neck, nose squashed across her throat and his mouth breathing hot and heavy against her skin. The metal lines of his glasses dug into her shoulder, but she didn't care. James was hugging her like he'd never see her again. "_Thank god you're alive._" The whisper was so quiet she was sure no one else could have heard it, but it thrummed against her neck, sent chilling ripples down her back.

She caught Sirius' dark eyes over James' head. Her arms came up around him and then all her attention was for James, her face softening and her words low. "A little worse for wear maybe," she murmured down at him. "But it takes more than a few jinxes to take down a Gryffindor, eh?"

The passageway exploded.

Hermione was thrown to the floor without warning, and though rock and mortar rained down on them the group, she felt nothing but cool stones at her back and hot breath on her face. She opened her eye.

James was on his knees above her; long body stretched out over the length of hers. She stared at him in disbelief, watching every wince and shudder as debris struck his back.

His glasses had been knocked askew but she saw his wild hazel eyes focus on her face, left side coated with blood. She saw him take in the stained and saturated bandage over her eye as time seemed to stop around them. She saw his face harden – with anger, with determination – and the painful image of her bloody visage seemed reflected in his eyes forever.

"Harry..."

He was about to do something _stupid_.

She dropped her shoulder and shoved upwards. James was still falling back as she sprung to her feet. "_Protego!_" She commanded, wand out. Her Shield Charm exploded from the tip of her wand, the giant blue-grey bubble buffeting back the Marauders. She stood alone at the gaping chasm in the wall, only magic between her and the Death Eaters.

The first came rocketing out of the passage, still masked and hooded. The giant bubble didn't deter him at all; his wand slashing through her Shield Charm like it was tissue paper.

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Confringo!_"

Hermione's Blasting Curse hit the floor between them and aged stone exploded, filling the hall with pulverized rock and a cloud of smoke and dust. The Death Eater's Stunner ricocheted off the sudden fountain of rock and fizzled into nothing. But it didn't matter – Hermione had already moved.

Under the cover of the explosion, Hermione had disappeared without anyone noticing. The Death Eater was the first to react and he spun on the spot, but it was only to come face to tip with Hermione's wand. "_Petrificus totalus!_" she cried. His arms and legs snapped straight and he tottered over sideways in the rubble.

"That was brilliant!"

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"Fine," she answered faintly. She managed one good step before staggering into Sirius' ready arms.

"You don't look fine," he said. His blue, blue eyes panned over her face, her robes, her hand. "In fact, you look like hell."

Hermione shook her head. "More are coming-"

"Let us take care of it," Sirius said. He gently steered her behind him and raised his wand, looking grim and set for battle. Battle found him.

Two more Death Eaters appeared at the passageway. They took in the scene of scattered students and immediately split off. Hermione watched from under Sirius' raised arm and knew they were intending to fence them in. The way Sirius' head moved to follow both, told her he'd realized it too.

"_Incendio!_"

"_Mobilicorpus!_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

"_Diffindo!_"

The Marauders attacked as a single unit without a coordinating word or gesture. James' fire spell caught the mangled tapestry that had nearly beheaded Hermione five minutes prior. It burst into flames inches from the left-most Death Eater, effectively cutting off his attempted roundabout. Peter's simple Disarming Charm was completely unexpected after the shock of James' spell and it knocked the man's wand effortlessly from his hand.

At the same time, the woman on the right managed to dodge most of Sirius' Cutting Charm, but the sizable gash it made across her thigh was enough to send her stumbling forward. Remus was ready to capitalize on her misstep, his spell directing the petrified body of her colleague directly into her path. The ingenious – and Stoogian – maneuver worked perfectly and the woman, knees colliding with the hovering body, was thrown head over heels. She barely managed to hold on to her wand.

The Marauders scattered to fight and Hermione wasn't about to be left out. She conjured a serpent to help James and Remus fight the man, and then joined Peter in his duel with Sirius against the woman.

Peter's jinxes were milder, but wickedly accurate and Hermione kept her curses limited to the environment around them to avoid the risk of hitting Sirius, who was locked in a heated fight with the Death Eater.

Peter's Hair-Growth Jinx temporarily blinded their opponent, and Sirius executed a grotesque, but perfect, Knee-Reversing Hex made all the worse by Hermione's subsequent Earthquake Charm. The woman, whose kneecaps were now switched front to back, was unable to keep her balance and fell onto her back, her misshapen legs jutting upwards at bizarre, inhuman angles.

She defended herself with desperation. Sirius was caught across the cheek with a vengeful cutting curse, Peter's right leg was turned to stone, and another fire curse narrowly avoided hitting Hermione, singing the ends of her curls.

By the time they'd incapacitated the woman, James and Remus had already defeated the other Death Eater. He dangled over the floor by his ankle; heavy ropes binding him from shoulder to waist. They hadn't yet immobilized him, so as the five of them regained their breath he spouted platitudes of Voldemort's power over their heads. Peter finally Stunned him – to everyone's relief – and, with Remus' help, stashed the three bodies in a nearby classroom and sealed the door.

"Everyone all right?" Hermione looked around, taking in everyone's scraps and bruises.

"That wasn't so bad," Peter said faintly, and Hermione fought back a smile as she bent to correct his leg.

"You shouldn't even be down here," she scolded. "I told you to go back. What on earth were you thinking?"

He did an odd sort of jig to establish that, yes, his leg was back to its previous state of flesh and bone, and then fixed a lopsided smile on her. "We're Marauders."

Hermione shot a glare at Remus, "You lied to me."

His large golden eyes settled on hers with a sort of sadness passing between them. He looked apologetic, but not sorry; though, by the time he opened his mouth to speak, James had already jumped to his defense.

"They were breaking through the windows, Harry!" He exclaimed. "We couldn't just do _nothing_."

Hermione started to argue that yes, they could have done what she'd told them and retreated to the safety of the Tower, but the sting of hypocrisy stopped her. She'd been desperate to get to the Great Hall, but the threat of the break-ins had stopped her as well. They'd all known what it meant to stop as many of them as possible and so she couldn't rightly make herself yell at them now.

"Tonks."

They stared at her.

"We have to find her – see if she's alright," she elaborated. She hefted her wand and started off down the corridor, only to be stopped by Sirius' large frame standing in her way.

"What about you?!" He demanded. Then his face softened so suddenly it took Hermione off-guard and she was too slow to react when he took her face in both his hands. A thousand words crossed his lips but none of them were spoken. Hermione should have realized how entirely shit he was at apologies.

What he finally said was, "You need to see a Healer," but it came out hoarsely, as if he'd just been shouting. His broad hands inched up her cheek and slid up her blood-soaked skin like silk. His thumb caressed the side of her nose and then his fingers were gently lifting up the bandage – pain arcing across his face with every centimeter of devastation bared. "_Oh God..._"

Hermione knocked his hand away and wrenched out of his grip. "_Stop_," she hissed, face enraged. "It's cursed. Don't worry about it." She spun around the shocked Sirius and took off briskly down the hall, passing the Arithmancy room and turning the corner towards the staircase.

He jogged after her, Marauders in tow. " _'It's cursed – don't worry_'?!" He yelled. "You've got to be jok-"

Hermione's body flew across the hall.

Before Sirius could react, the Death Eater was upon her. She struggled valiantly and managed to throw him off, but she was too badly wounded, too exhausted. Sirius' eyes locked with hers as she ran to him – wand raising in slow motion – and he saw what she knew deep inside – she'd been caught.

It was over in a second.

The Death Eater grabbed a great fistful of her shorn curls, wrenching her head back and baring her pale neck to the painful jab of his wand. Her wand hand was pinioned to her side, making it impossible to hex her captor. She wrenched forward, trying to free herself, but was painfully forced to stop when the wand was shoved up into the underside of her jaw. A grunt of pain slipped out.

"Let him go!" Peter yelled desperately, his wand flitting fretfully between targets.

There may have only been one Death Eater, but he was quite adept at using Hermione's body as a shield; they couldn't hex him without risking hitting her as well. Remus, too, though well-versed in defensive magic, looked uncertain as he cited down his wand at them. Only James held a steady aim – face hard; though, Hermione figured this was only because he assumed hexing her too was better than being held prisoner.

Grip tightening, the masked man began backing towards the staircase, dragging Hermione with him. Sirius moved to follow and was stopped by Hermione's sharp intake of breath, jaw aching from the sudden stab. If the Death Eater tried a knock-back jinx now she was certain her entire face would be blasted off.

"The Dark Lord will deal with you, once he's finished off your Headmaster," the nasally voice sneered. At that, Hermione struggled more valiantly; James too looked suddenly taken over by rage – his face purpling. And though he didn't move, his eyes followed the Death Eater, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

He laughed. "Pricked yer bleeding hearts, have I?" Hermione's eye rolled back, trying to see how far he'd dragged her off. The wand inched up, forcing her head back even farther and she felt his rancid breath on the side of her face. "How 'bout I save this little Gryffindor here some trouble, eh? _Just take his heart right out_."

"I'll _kill_ you," James swore; all the rage and hatred spilling over.

"That's the idea," he crooned; Hermione's eye closed tight. "_Avada Ked_-"

"DONOVAN! Hold!" The wand tip slipped from her neck and Hermione nearly wept with relief. How many times had she nearly been on the receiving end of a killing curse today? Her eyes fluttered open again. "That boy is mine."

Another Death Eater had arrived. The tension on the landing skyrocketed, Sirius and Peter now diverting their wands towards the new-comer. Neither attacked, however; painfully aware that Harry was still in danger.

"Insolent whelp," the stranger spat. "Didn't think I'd find you? No, no – I've got to pay you back, you see..."

She tried to twist her head awkwardly downwards to see him and in that moment their eyes met. She stared straight through the slitted lines of his dark mask and recognized those furious eyes. The Death Eater from the windows. He'd found another way in.

"Couldn't charm them all, could you?" He said sharply. "Hogwarts' little defender." He took in Hermione's tattered robes, eyes alighting on the smudged patch sewn across her chest. His sneer deepened. "A Gryffindor, too; not surprising. Shall we see how brave you really are?"

There wasn't time to react.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Hermione screamed. Painfully high and fueled by insurmountable agony, her shrieks filled the landing. They weren't masculine – they weren't even human. Every muscle in her body seized up; legs buckling, fingers clawing at the air. Her organs twisted themselves into impossible knots and writhed beneath the skin. Blood pumped too hot, too fast. Her body was on fire, flames burning hot and scorching behind her eyes; skull melting down around her brain and her consciousness snapping in and out.

She came to on her knees.

All her weight was on the Death Eater now holding her up beneath her arms. She hadn't even the strength to lift her head; barely enough wits left to open her lips and breathe. Sometime during the horrible, agonizing pain she'd dropped her wand. It didn't seem to matter now. Her face was slick with blood.

Something hard hit under her chin, forcing her face upwards.

The Death Eater lifted the handle of his broom higher and her head followed upwards accordingly, until her tear washed and bloody face was bared to the light.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Remus with all his supernatural strength was barely managing to restrain Sirius. "KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM!"

She strained to pull herself upright and whimpered. "Sirius...don't..."

"You're turn shall come soon enough, Black," The Death Eater warned. "And when it does – _oh!_ What's this?"

He reached for her and Hermione automatically recoiled, not going far before she was stopped by Death Eater standing behind her. There was a sharp pull at the back of her neck, matched by an audible **snap!** and then he was stepping back, something clutched in his hand. "What a precious trinket..."

Hermione felt her world come crashing down.

She stared, horrorstruck, at the glittering Time Turner now dangling from his fist. It oscillated slowly of its own accord, winking in the soft candlelight; innocuous, unprovocative – yet it held her entire fate within its delicate hourglass. "G-Give that back," she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak.

"Bit shiny," the Death Eater drawled. "A family heirloom perhaps – mum wishing she had a daughter, eh?"

Hermione shot upwards so quickly she nearly broke free from her surprised captor; nearly escaped the searing pain of her tortured limbs. She barely heard the Marauders begging her to leave it – the blood was pounding in her ears and all her vision narrowed down to her, the Death Eater, and the Time Turner.

"Give it back. _Now_."

The Death Eater waved the broken chain tauntingly in her face. "Such sentimentality – the sign of a weak character," he jibbed, leaning back quickly as she leapt at him. The other Death Eater barely held her in check. "So strong an attachment to so small a trinket? I can't wait to see what happens when I torture your friends."

Her enraged snarl seemed to amuse the man. He stalked past her to the balcony's edge and she felt a sudden lance of fear strike her seeing him stand so casually against the banister. A sudden commotion caused them both to whirl and face the Marauders; though, it cost Hermione something to wrench her head back at so strange an angle; her lone good eye rolling and searching. The noise instantly ceased; though, James and Sirius looked more infuriated than ever.

"Don't worry, blood traitor," spat the man. "You'll be the first to taste my curse."

"Can't wait," Sirius shot back. The Death Eater raised his wand as if ready to grant his wish. As they stared one another down, Hermione scanned the others. Remus was staring hard at her, a sudden urgency on his face as though he were trying to tell her something; something important.

The Death Eater was moving again and she had to look away. "First things first; smaller before the larger..."

He thrust his arm out over the balcony edge and let the chain slip ever slightly. Hermione gave a strangled cry, her eyes wide and frantic. What would happen if it broke? Could the fine glass be repaired – all the tiny grains of sand recovered? Here now, on the brink of being trapped in time forever, all her indecisiveness, all her uncertainty vanished. With her only means of getting back to the future dangling over the edge, Hermione wanted so very desperately to go home.

If it broke...she'd be stuck here forever.

She wouldn't survive it. She knew that. If she was displaced forever she'd go mad.

"Oh get on with it," quipped the first Death Eater.

The second let out a long-suffering sigh. "You've no appreciation for the subtle torture. These things take finesse, you know...just look at the boy's face."

"I could – if I weren't too busy holding him off," Donovan griped. "Can't I just—"

But he never finished his request. A loud explosion sounded out of sight behind her and she heard the Marauders shout. Then, two things happened all at once – the tight hold on her arms dropped off and the Time Turner slipped from the shocked man's fingers.

Hermione didn't think. She pulled free, lunged once, twice – and then jumped.

There was nothing to hinder her fall – all the stairs whisked up to the ceiling on Dumbledore's word – and so she plummeted downwards; down, down. She shot past the sixth floor; the fifth; passed the fourth in the blink of an eye. Never had the distance seemed so short; her time so limited.

She strained, strained to reach the Turner before it was too late. _So close_.

The golden chain caught on her outstretched fingers. The dial was already set – all she had to do was set the hourglass spinning and she'd be home again.

The entrance hall was rushing up to meet her. She spun the hourglass.

* * *

Her stomach lurched into her throat. She was no longer toppling end over end but rocketing headlong in some unknown direction. Technicolor lights whizzed by her, streaking out in thin glowing lines that hurt her eyes. Something was wrong. She should have been back by now.

The smell of blood hit her so fast she would have screamed had not her mouth been sealed shut. Images soon caught up with the smell and she saw herself as she had been _that_ day. Sitting on the blood-stained grass, she held Tonks' hand, crying over the dead Auror's chest. Behind her, Harry stood prominent on the crest of a hill – Godric Gryffindor's sword gleaming as he resolutely dismembered Voldemort's lifeless body.

Then, suddenly it was her own lifeless body sprawled out on the grass; it was _Neville_ wielding Gryffindor's sword. A passing Auror covered Hermione's face with her robe, but no one was there to hold her hand.

Hermione blinked back tears and closed her eyes against the light, but it mattered little. She saw the next images as if they had been wide open.

James was fussing with his hair in the mirror at the Three Broomsticks. Lily appeared over his shoulder – all freckles and dimpling smiles. Then she faded away; James oblivious to all but his reflection. She came again only to vanish a second time.

Sunlight hit Hermione's face like a heat wave, and the backs of her eyelids turned red from the intensity of it. Thinking herself back at Hogwarts, she eagerly opened her eyes only to see something quite unfamiliar.

Remus was dressed in a rich charcoal suit, something finer than she'd ever seen him in. His hair was tousled and his smile young and carefree as he turned to speak...to _her!_ Her hair was done up and she wore a pretty spring dress of the fairest blue that lightened her smile and matched her companion's tie. Then before her eyes, Remus _aged_. The lines deepened into dark furrows across his face; his scars standing out harshly; white on his gaunt face. He still smiled, but it did not meet his eyes for a deep sorrow echoed there. His tie was now red, her dress pink as he offered his hand for a dance.

The summer morning darkened to midnight and she saw Peter as he had been that night in the Shrieking Shack, groveling at her feet. He begged her – mousy eyes squinting, frayed waistcoat straining across his back – to save him from his former friends. Then he was a young man – the contrast so startling that at first she didn't know him. Still short and rather stocky, it was his posture that made him seem so much taller – even standing next to Hagrid's giant form as they argued good-naturedly over the proper breeding of dragons. Peter gave a lop-sided smile and waved at someone in the distance before the scene faded away.

Sirius came next; though, she could barely make out his huddled form in the gloom. He was wedged in the farthest corner of a tiny room – its walls and floor blackened stone. It smelled of rot and there was a persistent drip coming form down the dark hall, loud enough to drive anyone mad. Then he stirred and, standing, strode easily to the far wall. He threw open a window and it was then Hermione realized he was no longer in Azkaban. The sunlight hit him in a wave of yellow light, illuminating his bare torso and a soft breeze caressed his face, stirring his long hair. Sirius, bright eyes gleaming, leaned into the sun and the wind and _laughed_.

Something just behind her ribs jerked her back with enough jarring force to strain her neck horribly. Then she was hurtling forward again with even greater velocity than before. The lights blurred together, lines and points losing all shape as the colors blurred into a phantasmagoric spectrum that pulsed and flowed around her. The glow was becoming increasingly brighter as the images began again, faster this time and less coherent.

She saw Ron on his broom; Ginny alive and whole again. She saw a funeral procession – whose she could not tell. She saw Harry laughing as she and Ron squabbled. Lily accepted her diploma, followed by Luna Lovegood. The Whomping Willow was covered in snow, then it was the summer solstice and Remus was slipping inside. Hermione saw Cedric Diggory walk out of the maze, saw Madame Pomfrey lying still as death in one of her own hospital beds. Dumbledore's face, then Lucius, then Firenze, the centaur. Fred & George, Bellatrix Lestrange, and McGonagall, walking stick in hand. Severus was frowning over a chess board, Mrs. Weasley looking anxiously up at her enchanted clock. Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye was revolving wildly and Trelawny drank tea in one of her chintz armchairs.

Now the brief scenes were coming so quickly and so numerously that the faces blurred from one to the next, colors dissolved and separated, and sound collided with smell – both disappearing. All that remained now was the swirling ubiquitous mass of light and color; the intensity of its passing showing just how quickly her body was being flung forward.

She'd nearly given up all hope of escaping whatever malfunction of time she'd created, when the light flashed brightly, startling her out of her dark thoughts. It flashed again and she was then acutely aware of an increasing brightness. All around her, the colors were growing more and more blinding. Whiter and whiter her passage became; faster and faster she flew. She grew numb; though her eyes ached from the light. Dizziness overtook her and she begged for it to end.

And it did.

That same something pulled hard from behind her sternum and she was yanked back into so sudden a halt that she surely felt her brain rattling in her skull and her teeth clattered together. Feeling as though she wanted nothing more than to throw up, Hermione fell to her knees where Hogwarts should have been.

There was nothing but white.


	17. The Void

**

* * *

Completed:** 12/24/07 12:47 PM  
**Posted: **12/24/07 10:07 PM 

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T [language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but this totally-awesomely original plot is all mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _Merry Christmas (I blame the delay wholeheartedly on institutes of higher education).

Rest assured the story is most certainly **not** over.

* * *

The bile burned in her throat and her vision swam.

Unrelieved white hit the back of her eye like a burning needles; she closed it.

Her arms shook as she tried to breathe and blood dripped hot and wet onto the back of her palm with a dull **whapwhapwhap**; the sound of it echoing around her. Grunting in pain, she pushed herself from her knees to her feet, staggering as her stomach revolted against the sudden movement. But there was nothing to brace herself against, no directing markers of any kind – just white.

"Where _am_ I?"

The whispered words exploded out of her mouth like they'd been shouted; echoing repeatedly until the words became so jumbled and overlappingly warped that they were nothing but unintelligible noise. She pressed her palms to her ears until a few seconds later the sound ebbed and died.

Her white surroundings were unaltered. She reached out tentatively into the fog, fingers splaying outward, searching. Her voice had echoed like in a cavern, but no invisible walls met her searching fingertips. She stopped to apprise the situation.

She was certain she'd reached the hourglass in time; certain she'd sent herself spinning through time before the floor had caught up to her. That this endless expanse might possibly be all there was after death was just...—she wouldn't accept it.

Could it be an elaborate, if disturbing, dream? A sharp pinch to her upper arm confirmed it wasn't.

Spun herself to far into the future? She checked the Time Turner from where it hung around her neck and found the settings to be the same as when she'd set them months ago; set for home.

If she wasn't dead, and she wasn't dreaming, and she hadn't accidentally sent herself to the end of time, then what was left? For once in her life she was out of ideas. The only certainty that remained was that no one was coming for her. She was on her own.

Now determined – if only because she had no choice – Hermione tucked the Time Turner back under her collar and raised her wand. "_Flagrate!_" As she spoke the word, a fiery stream erupted from the tip of her wand and followed its direction to shape the flaming image of the number one. It hovered next to her to mark the spot where she'd arrived.

Wand at the ready she took her first steps into the unknown.

The ground was neither hard nor soft under her feet. In fact, it had no particularly defining characteristics other than its undefineability. The fog swirled and ebbed at her passing without ever fully parting and, when she stopped to mark her way, crept under robes and kissed the backs of her knees.

She didn't speak – subconsciously straining to make no sound. Even the rub of cloth echoed ominously around her. It was ridiculous – in the rational part of her mind, she knew this – but in the absence of all else she couldn't help imagining that _something else_ lurked in the fog, waiting for a noise – the barest of breaths – _and then it had you_. Ridiculous.

She held her breath.

The burning trail of numbers snaked behind her like a searing brand in the whiteness, but after awhile the "1" disappeared from her length of sight and she couldn't have said when she walked too far; she had stopped to brand the sky with her burning breadcrumbs – "28" – and, glancing back, saw how far she'd come. Her line swayed and bowed as her path had wandered, but there were no hills or bends to obscure her vision and her spellwork was true. She'd simply walked farther than her vision could span. Strain as she might she could see nothing beyond a crooked "3". She held her breath and kept walking.

She'd avoided looking around her as she walked, preferring instead the familiar dulled-black of her shoes, but with no end or change forthcoming, she turned her eye to the light. The glare was nearly blinding – like fresh snow under the breaking of the dawn over the horizon; her eye watered from the sheer brilliance of it. Her vision fractured, reflecting a nauseating kaleidoscope of diamond-studded facets.

She staggered the first few steps, but as the disorientation passed she found her feet again and set herself back on course. There wasn't much to see – _nothing_, to be precise – and she felt a bit silly for having avoided looking up to begin with. It wasn't that different from the ground, or what she called the ground, for lack of a better word; unrelieved white broken only by the occasional wisp of fog floating up from her shuffling feet.

It became her only means of distraction – watching those spiraling tendrils escape the crush of her heels, only to disperse like pulled cotton. Her eye adjusted after a fashion and when she no longer had to squint to see, the white expanse seemed marginally less threatening. It was then, as she stared off into the uncertain distance that she realized there was more than just fog floating around her.

At first, she thought it was just her eyes tricking her – like dark spots dancing in your vision after looking to the sun. She rubbed at her eye, but the strange illusion remained.

Minute pinpricks of light drew her eye like flickering fairy lights and she stepped closer for a better look. As she walked she tried to count them, an impossibility as they disappeared as soon as the light had moved on, only to reappear again farther on. She watched a phantasmagoric light show play out before her, a myriad of reds and blues and yellows captivating her and pulling her in as though by siren song.

Bells chimed soft and far away, the subtle melody so faint she wondered if it played only in her mind. A twinkle, an echoing ring; each occurrence bringing the strange images into clearer focus.

Then – suddenly, wondrously – she could see. See bubbles.

They floated just ahead of her, bobbing like colorless balloons on invisible strings.

The movement – up, down, rise, fall – was hypnotic. Like watching the tide ebb and flow her gaze was captured and she felt herself calm even as her eye started to glaze over. It was so simple – a child's plaything – beckoning her closer, back to her childhood, begging her to touch it. Without realizing it, a slow, lingering smile spread across her face.

She reached for it without thinking – the blood and burned skin of her hand reflecting back at her – and then the tips of her fingers were touching the bubble's edge in the softest of caresses. It was warm. Like bathwater. Suddenly light exploded from the center in a violent supernova that seared across her face like a blown firework. She must have screamed but her entire system was going haywire, her brain shutting down as the laser lights burned through her retinas.

The void fell away around her, fingers stuck fast to the burning bubble.

* * *

_Hermione nearly tripped down the stairs in her hurry to return to the common room, an enormous old book cradled in her arms. She'd dashed to the trio's table before the dormitory door had even clicked shut above them. Harry and Ron barely had time to exchange mystified looks before she dropped it onto the table with a __**boom!**__ and clambered into a chair._

"_I never thought to look in here!" she whispered excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."_

"Light?_" said Ron, but Hermione hushed and started flicking frantically through the pages, muttering to herself._

_At last she found what she was looking for._

"_I knew it! I _knew_ it!"_

"_Are we allowed to speak yet?" said Ron grumpily. Hermione ignored him._

"_Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"_

_This didn't have quite the effect she'd expected._

"_The what?" said Harry and Ron._

"_Oh, _honestly_, don't you two read?"_ **POP!**

* * *

Hermione was brought out of the memory when the bubble burst beneath her fingers, spattering her hand with cool droplets. The miniature sun that had roared to life within now snapped apart and a hundred prismatic butterflies fluttered off into the white expanse.

She staggered back, relearning how to breathe – head aching as though she'd been holding her breath. She wiped the sticky tracts of blood from her cheeks only to have her fingers come back soaked in tears.

_Ron and Harry_.

Their faces visited every night in her dreams and haunted her in the waking world: Ron's humor floating behind Sirius' smirk; Harry's bravery and trust whispered in James' words.

This had felt _real_.

She hadn't been some bystander watching the memory play out like a film in the cinema; no. She'd been that eleven year old girl of her past – bushy-haired and buck-toothed – overflowing with excitement at a long-pondered puzzle finally solved.

It was as though she'd gone back in time for that brief half-moment. Impossible. It was impossible without a Time Turner and she hadn't touched hers. She gripped the hourglass with her free hand and tried to ignore the persisting feelings. Her fingers felt chalky from the dusty book and she could hear the chatter of the common room just behind her.

She looked around frantically, trying to suss out the trick; heart beating erratically when she realized she'd left the path. The burning letters were out of sight. Her head screamed **impossible!**, but as she spun around there was nothing but wh—

* * *

"_Well, he's the best at Potions there is, right?" he stated logically. Harry grinned to himself. "Second to you of course." _

_Lucius' eyes narrowed on the brunet, clearly taking umbrage at the cavalier taunt. Harry's wry upturn of lips was the only indication that his plain words had been meant to tease._

"_Do you __want__ to be hexed?" The Slytherin growled._

"_Not particularly. Am I aggravating you?"_

"_Like a bloody Gryffindor."_**POP!**

* * *

Icy wetness peppered the elbow of her robe, chilling the skin beneath. She turned, staggering under the lingering onslaught of the vision, and watched a shimmering ribbon of butterflies disappear into the distance. Air whistled between her teeth as she sucked in long-absent air.

That day in the snow – she'd been...happy? There had been a lightness in her chest that she hadn't noticed at the time, a breezy way of speaking that carried on the snow-filled wind. She rubbed at her chest, feeling that same tingling sensation returning. If she rubbed hard enough it would go away.

She couldn't think about that now – not when she was trying to find a way back home. Lucius – _Malfoy _– was her enemy, had teased her as a child and threatened her life as an adult. He wasn't some person she bantered with in the snow. Not anymore.

More lights winked in and out around her, each deceptive twinkle drawing closer and closer. She twisted, trying again to find the path; acutely aware that the calm environment of the void had taken a decidedly sinister turn. She wasn't stupid – it was the damned bubbles yanking her in and out of her past, dredging up happy memories that made her ache with such forlorn longing that the pain was as strong as if they had been unhappy ones.

It hadn't been the eyes of some monstrous creature she'd felt earlier – felt so strongly that she feared to make a sound – but rather the familiar pull of long-suppressed memories calling to her from out of sight. Now they were tumbling out of the woodwork, jostling and rolling over each other like marbles in their eagerness to touch her. To be remembered.

Her mind screamed **RUN!** They were just memories – bits and pieces of thought that stood as a testament to all she'd experienced and all she'd done. But for the last six months she had lived exclusively in the moment. Thoughts of home – of Harry and Ron – were too far from her reach to be anything but painful; thoughts of the present and of consequences would fill her with doubt and, crippled with indecision, her mission would fail.

_**Run! RUN!**_

She whirled around and came face to face with her own reflection.

The prismatic surface turned her mirror-self into a caricature, tinted green here, pink there so that her entire face was a rainbow of light and color as it moved within the bubble. Then she could see herself standing on lavender grass, broom in hand, and cheeks flaring a deep blue – clearly yelling. Ron's smiling face arced across her vision and then she was screaming. Her face burned scalding hot and ocher light seared her eyes.

* * *

"_You, 'Mione...are a _watermelon_. You _cannot _be chucked. In fact you're just big and clumsy and...well, un-acorn like."_

_Hermione's jaw dropped. She felt Harry quickly backstep; getting safely out of her way. She rounded on her ginger-haired friend who had only now realized his mistake._

"_Did you...just call me a _watermelon_?" She seethed._

_Ron scooched back a couple of feet on the pitch turf, but Hermione regained the distance by a few angry strides. "I was just, uh, saying...you might not be built for Quidditch, tha's all. Really, Hermione..." He awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Don't you mind it..."_

_Very slowly – and with deliberate rigidity– Hermione looked down at the offending hand where it touched her shoulder, searching the rolodex of spells now cycling through her mind to hex his fingers off one by one with slow, painful, __agonizing__ curses. Ron gulped._

"_You're __dead__," she hissed._

_Ron took off running, Hermione in hot pursuit, and Harry's dismayed shouts following them as she swung his Firebolt over her head. "RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! YOU HAD __BETTER__—" _**POP!**

* * *

She came to on her back, liquid droplets splattered across her nose and butterfly wings caught in her hair. It took longer than before to unstop her throat and she floundered for a few strangled seconds, mouthing the air like a stranded fish, before blessed air filled her lungs. She coughed – a stuttered gasp through tears – then scrambled against the fogged ground to stand; fear overrunning her senses.

She was barely off her knees when a ball of fire erupted between her shoulder blades, paralyzing her back – now bowed and bent – and her mouth open in a silent scream.

* * *

"_Why the long face Severus?" Hermione asked, sitting down next to Snape. She wore a pretty sky blue dress and Snape too looked equally well-dressed; though, still rather sullen. He merely glowered in response to her question._

"_Oh come now," she teased, eyes dancing. "Isn't this fun? Aren't you happy?"_

"_Ecstatic," he sneered._

"That_," Hermione quipped. "Hinted strongly of sarcasm; coming from you I'm shocked."_

_She nearly caught him smiling before the sullen look returned and she swung her legs idly beneath the seat of her chair. "Your hair's getting rather long."_

_He gave her a slow look out of the corner of his eye; nonplussed by her sudden and pointless observation. "And yours?" He inquired._

_Hermione tugged fitfully at the stunted chiffon she'd barely managed to pin in place. "Growing at a ridiculously slow pace, I'm afraid."_

"_Why don't y-"_ **POP!**

* * *

She barely managed to twist sideways before she fell, landing hard on her shoulder. Her back was freezing. She struggled to make her mind work as she ran out of air. Snape. Blue. Blue sky. Blue dress. _Sky blue_. It was too difficult, too taxing; she couldn't make the pieces fit and her head ached.

She forced air through her throat and her veins sluggishly responded, pulsing lethargically through her limbs with barely enough circulation to push her off the ground. Her hair was in her eyes, but she could still see them all around her.

She was surrounded.

"P-Please..." she croaked, barely hearing the words. "No...more..."

A charming, bubble weaved ahead of the others and drifted down to kiss the hand she'd vainly lifted to defend herself.

* * *

_"You bought that monster?" _

Hermione's attention was all on the gingered ball of fluff yowling plaintively in her arms. She was grinning so widely her eyes crinkled. "He's gorgeous, isn't he?" 

_  
"Hermione, that thing nearly scalped me!" came Ron's indignant reply.  
_

_She glanced up at her friend, but was distracted by the cat's sudden compliance to her grip. It was now rubbing its head roughly under her chin, claws swatting at her bushy curls. _

_"He didn't mean to – did you, Crookshanks?" she said, extricating his paw from her hair and placating him with a scratch behind the ears. "Poor Crookshanks, that witch said he'd been in there for ages; no one wanted him!"_

She turned to Ron, expecting him to reciprocate her heartfelt disbelief, but was instead rewarded with another glib retort; "I wonder why" muttered under his breath. **POP!**

* * *

"_Rule one eighty-two: No Swashbuckling in the boys' dorms."_

"_Can't believe McGoogles didn't buy that I was possessed," Sirius muttered, sheathing his invisible sword. "If James hadn't been screaming so much, she __never __would have-" _**POP!**

**

* * *

**

**  
**_" – I will write to your mother." _

George looked horrified and took a step back. "You wouldn't." **POP!**

* * *

"_Sir, you can't really expect me to go around kissing everyone for the right to talk!" She exclaimed, elbowing James in the ribs to get him to let go. "It simply isn't proper! And it's not at all conducive to my educ—"_ **POP!**

* * *

_Hermione found them in front of the Fat Lady, her hair all the more wild because she'd run. "There you are! Where have you been? The most ridiculous rumors--someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying car--" Ron looked down at his feet._

_  
"Well, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her._ **POP!**

* * *

"_-ye can'ah tell me that's tha way t'do it!" She could hear Hagrid's booming voice carrying up over the hill and she picked up her pace._

"_S'pose we'll never know, eh? What with eggs being a Class A Non-Tradeable and all..." Her laughter floated down to them and they paused in their conversation. "Oi! It's Hermione!"_

_She matched Peter's grin and returned his wave as she hurried across the lawn, sweater wrapped tight against the autumn chill. It was always a comfort to know that some things never ch—_ **POP!**

**

* * *

**

_"S-P-E-W... I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status - but it wouldn't fit. So that's—_ **POP!**

**

* * *

**

_She walked up to the receptionist, hesitating before resting her dirty palms on the counter's edge. She blinked blood and bangs out of her eye and cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Miss? I think I may need medical attention."_

_The young woman's bubblegum popped and she examined her nails. "What seems to be the prob-"_ **POP!**

* * *

_She smiled – quick and bright – before extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"_ **POP!**

* * *

"It is a dangerous thing to let one's memories consume you."

The voice had brought her back to herself, but it was a bittersweet return. It felt as though her lungs had been ripped form her body. Eyes and mouth alike gaped wide and ugly, screaming for air.

A man was standing before her. She took him in with stretched and burning eyes, and though he wore a finely tailored suit all her oxygen-starved mind could register was its color: a deep, disarming fuchsia. He smiled as the edges of her vision turned black.

Then – on the edge of oblivion – the dam cracked; air whistled through. It tasted like summer clouds. And like water raging against the pressure of its forced enclosure, the air pushed through the pin-hole crack with brutal ferocity, eroding and blasting through the opening as if a canon had been shot upon it.

Her guttural gasp echoed like a thunderclap.

Lying on her back – prostrate before uncertainty – she let her eyes fall blissfully shut. She focused only on breathing; in and out, in and out. Her body was tensed – prepared for another onslaught of painfully happy memories – but it was only the fog that crept up over her inert body. It tickled her chin.

She opened her eyes – lashes catching on skewed bandages. The man was still there.

"Who are you?"

"No one of consequence."

"Where am I?"

"Good question—" He looked around with mild interest, hands tucked into the pockets of his waistcoat. He didn't seem at all worried by their surroundings as far as she could tell; though, he appeared to be just as uninformed as she. He beamed as she got to her feet. "Where, indeed."

"How did you get here?" she asked, swaying when he didn't offer a hand to steady her and hoping desperately for answers.

"You brought me here."

Her response was automatic: "No I didn't!"

"Alright." He smiled genially and rocked back on his heels.

Hermione eyed him doubtfully, wondering now if she wasn't hallucinating her new, cryptic companion. The pleasantness of his face – clean-shaven with a head of trim auburn hair – was inarguably outweighed by the absurdity of his dress; a slate grey oxford beneath all that fuchsia – a matching vest adorned with nothing but a golden watch chain.

"No more nonsense," she demanded; anxious hope willing out in her voice. "How did you get to this place? Is there a way out?"

"'Aforementioned' to the first; 'naturally' to the second."

"E-Excuse me?"

"It's all about words you see! '_Words – so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become, in the hands of one who knows how to combine them._' Words!—you silly girl"

"I don't understand," she said.

"I've already told you the answer: the 'aforementioned line' – if you fancy our exchange a penned play; 'see above' my encyclopedic escort – if that's more your taste. All words, all the same. You brought me here – that's the line."

"But-"

"Yes. The game; always afoot, always running. Must play by the rules or be disqualified. I am a _traveler_. I come and go as cause might have me, always moving, never stopping. Movement is my trade. _And_ words..." He trailed off, the glib aside hanging between them on the edge of his enigmatic smile. "Time is my pay, or my tax – either one as equal or as likely – but 'tis a comfort knowing that as I go: I'm always breaking even."

He laughed at his own joke, but Hermione could only stare. "You're mad," she muttered; more to herself than anything, but the man smiled and tipped an imaginary cap to her.

"As a Hatter," he replied.

"A what?"

"You know – 'why is a raven like a writing desk?'" His smile quirked, seeing her all the more perplexed. He tutted. "_Alice in Wonderland_? You do read books, don't you?"

"Of cour—I mean, yes! I do. I just haven't had the ch-" She stamped her foot. "That isn't the point."

"Straight to it, then? The point, I mean. And if that point is moot – what then? For I do not think that for all your fervent questioning you truly wish to hear my answers."

"That's ridiculous," she told him. "You're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Why would I ask a question if not for the answer?"

"Don't you know? Could it possibly be my answers pain you?"

"What answers!" Hermione yelled, throwing up her arms. "You haven't answered a single question! Unless it's with another question, so that our conversation hasn't gone anywhere but in circles–"

"It's rather rude not to pay attention, you know."

"—I jus— wha?—" she floundered a moment before regaining her stride, snapping: "_It's also rude to interrupt_!"

He ignored her terse retort with his usual unperturbed manner, turning his gaze to the vast and empty expanse. "Is it the illogical you fear?"

"I don't-"

"Oh! But you do: fear, that is. You fear failure – to be more precise, the consequences that stem from the lack of knowledge. Fear, as your dear Ron fears the loss of those he loves; Harry, fear itself."

"How-"

"You ask for the inconsequential; fixate on the unimportant-"

"_HOW DO YOU KNOW THEM?_"

Her voice echoed like a rockslide crashing down canyon walls; the man didn't flinch, but rather looked extremely – inexplicably – _disappointed_. He sighed softly then and, in the wake of Hermione's tumultuous outburst, the sound seemed to hang suspended in the air between them – stretching its soft whisper for as long as it could – before dissolving into silence.

"No more questions, no more evasions, no more riddles," she said, eye bright. "Tell me now: how do you know those names; those secrets?"

He lifted his chin – a defiant gesture-, and for the first time she looked straight into his blue, blue eyes. Those eyes went on forever as she stared, searching for a measure of depth in that which was endless; fell from the sky, through the ocean, into shadow. It was knowledge that filled the deep, dark wells of his eyes, and in the ripples her reflection floated, painted blue.

"I know nothing more or less than you, yourself; though, my nature grants me a certain degree of clarity where you – sweet Time Child – have none: the keen edge of your memories blunted by the turning of the Earth and the Natural Forces of Life over which you – naturally – have no control. See? The disbelief: even now it is outweighing your confusion; I can see it in your face. It is because _you_ know their deepest fears that I too know them. And I know what your clouded eyes cannot see, but know is there; what your self-preservation has not allowed you to consider or question: that which cannot be explained frightens you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. Hermione didn't care how he'd gotten there or who he was: a sudden and inexplicable urge was rising up in her; get away it said. Something about him unsettled her.

"I don't know who you think you are, but it's quite clear that either I've gotten myself horrible splinched in time and you're a hallucination, or you really are a Time Traveler – one who has nothing better to do than to taunt a trapped young woman with stupid riddles."

He grabbed her elbow – before her thoughts could even become actions, before she'd even decided to run – stopping her from striding off into the fog, and held tight as she fought him; a long-forgotten spiritedness shining in her face. It was the first time he'd touched her. "Let me go!" she hissed.

"Already you're rationalizing – explaining away the unexplainable-"

"I said let me go!" her shouts punctuated by another desperate pull to free her arm.

"I cannot."

It was an accident, really: meeting his eyes. She'd turned – to tell him off? To strike him? – and was struck dumb; dumb and paralyzed; by the sadness in his blue, blue eyes.

"You know you must stay and so I cannot let you leave."

Hermione looked down to the hand now gripping her forearm, but not for long, - those eyes drawing back her gaze. "You could just let go..."

His smile was weak. "I really can't."

"I could make you," she said with a forced calm that was hard to maintain under his weighted gaze.

"No one can but you and you've already decided you must stay."

She frowned. "I'll scream."

"No one will hear you."

"Then I'll—"

"You won't hex me: you haven't even drawn your wand."

Hermione's chest instantly tightened; her pulse quickening with anxiety as her breath got caught in her lungs. _Her wand_. Where was her wand? She had it when she'd arrived – used it to cast her trail of burning numbers. Then she'd left the path and...had she dropped it? Was it laying somewhere in the fog?

"Not even your memories, such as they are, could part you from your wand, Hermione." She gave a start – hearing her thoughts echoed out loud made her uncomfortable and she realized too late that she was still looking straight into his eyes.

"I am no more a Legilimens than you, Hermione," he said quietly; though, the timing of his statement did little to reassure her of the fact. "Your wand is in your pocket."

The moment he said it she knew it to be true. She felt the hard jab of it against her side, as if it had suddenly been slipped into her robe's inner pocket by the mere thought; her face flamed. How could she not have noticed and _why_ on earthhad she put away her only weapon.

"Are you aware that you're talking a-loud?"

"What?"

"I beg your pardon. You know, one really ought to make it clear that they are issuing a question; otherwise they can't get upset when inevitable confusion ensues—"

She blinked slowly, interjecting with the same sudden sluggishness: "I was speaking?"

Head tilting slightly, the man looked her over, answering smartly: "Out loud. Yes."

"Oh." A curling wisp of fog distracted her, dissipating under her probing fingers. "What were we talking about?"

"Are you forgetting things?"

The question seemed important to him, but Hermione couldn't figure why so she just shrugged; shook her head; said, simply: "No. I just can't remember them."

He smirked. "That does happen. We were arguing. Over existentialism. Literally; paradoxically. I'm not sure which."

"You let go of my arm." Despite the odd realization that she hadn't seen him release her, it was indubitable for he now stood a few feet off and to the side in a particularly rambunctious patch of mist, hands tucked neatly into his pockets. When he laughed the fog rolled out like the tide.

"Naturally. No need now."

"How do you know I won't run?" she asked and he laughed again.

"You _do_ have an astounding capacity for repetition, don't you?"

"What-"

"And for disturbingly frequent bouts of amnesia," he added.

Hermione's scowled. "You're being difficult."

The man smiled. "I can see that you think so."

"We have to get out of here!"

"I do not deny that."

"Then stop wasting my time."

"Are you afraid?"

"What?"

"Well, are you?"

"No." She took a step back, as if shocked by her own admission. The oppressive silence, the haunting whiteness – all that had scared her upon her sudden and unexplained arrival had been forgotten by the man's sudden appearance.

"Tell me the truth!"

"Which truth?"

Hermione threw up her hands, wanting quite desperately to throttle him. "Who are you?" she demanded. "_Really._"

"Oh. _That_ truth." He frowned and examined his waistcoat's buttons. "I don't want you to hear _that_ truth."

"I don't care," she snapped.

"Fine," he retorted with equal crossness. He pulled a hand from his pocket and fiddled with a small gold button, pulling free a loose thread.

The fog was creeping up the back of Hermione's neck; a clammy eerie caress that made her shoulders itch with a restrained shudder. Her patience was waning. "_Well…_?"

"I'm a Time Traveler."

Hermione's mouth fell open.

"This is the dead zone – a temporal gap – a paradox. You've gone forward in time using a device from a future that no longer exists," he laughed. "You're lucky you didn't atomize yourself."

"N-no longer exists?" she managed, her voice hoarse.

"Oh, yes. This point in time is completely gone. Either it's been totally destroyed or is being changed as we speak, either way – can't have travelers popping into half-altered states, now can we? You're lucky I stopped by, else who knows how long you'd have puttered about here."

He turned, scanning the expanse with a sort of fondness in his smiling face. His hands slipped into his pockets as he continued. "Really just a layover, you know. But you can't stay long or you'll start detemporalizing; ugly business, that."

"You're really...really from the future then?" He looked back over his shoulder.

"Not really," he answered rather indifferently.

Hermione felt that she very much needed to sit down. So she did; fog and tiny sparkles of light billowing up around her like a cloud before settling down again.

"It's what you wanted hear," he said with a shrug, though, there was no tinge of apology to his voice.

Hermione sighed, feeling utterly defeated and exhausted with it all, and put her head against her drawn up knees. "Am I never to get the real truth out of you..."

"That was always up to you, Hermione..."

She wrapped her arms about her head – over her ears – but she could still hear him; the void's cruel manipulations of sound playing against her. She heard him moving and couldn't help but open her eyes. Over the bony juts of her knees, she watched him fish the golden pocket watch from his waistcoat and, after a moment's examination of the softly ticking device, heard a small sigh escape him. He caught her eyes – suddenly, unexpectedly – and held them.

"As it is, I'm afraid we no longer have the time."

She took a deep breath to steel herself. "I'm going to die then."

He laughed so suddenly it made her jump. Pocketing his watch, he gave her a fond, paternal smile. "_Not quite_, Hermione."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't," he said. "You're very special, little Time Child; an extraordinary witch. But you're still only human."

"What are you, then?"

The man rocked back on his heels, beaming. "A plot device."

"A what?"

"I am the spinning arrow – a Cheshire Cat. I confuse and misdirect, but in the end I show you the way."

"Is there a particular reason why you can't just _tell_ me?"

"Naturally."

She sighed.

"It's something you must puzzle out yourself – I can give only hints, never full truths."

"Well that's just stupid," she sputtered. "And and _illogical!_"

"Illogical? I speak in riddles because your character, such as it is, won't let me just hand you the knowledge you seek.

"You—" He rubbed at his chin, mouth quirking into a grin. "You're so very human – did you know that?" He laughed. "Of all humanity's traits, I love curiosity best. And you have it in spades.

"My dear Hermione – you of all people should know that if I simply told you what is truth you would not believe it. You are the very sort of person who fully believes only when you have come to that conclusion yourself. You may have brought me here, but you must work it out alone."

"_Brought you?_ If I could have summoned someone to get me out of here I certainly wouldn't have chosen you; you haven't helped me at all!"

He shook his head – not so much insulted as disappointed – saying, "I am here because I represent someone whom you're mind has come to associate with knowledge and aid."

This startled her and she quickly appraised him, searching for familiarity in the strange man and finding none. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Who?"

"Can you not see?" he asked and threw his arms wide.

Hermione took him in, unwittingly taking a step nearer for a better look. His suit was no longer as blinding as when she'd first seen it but still as garish, rose stitching embroidering a strange pattern across his waistcoat. Runes were etched into his golden buttons and the chain of his watch was wrought with heretofore unseen diamonds. His facial features were prominently Gaelic with a German sort of thinness to his lips and strength in his jaw. His skin was clear and without freckle. No hint of a shadow was on his jaw though he was clearly of middle age and his auburn hair was just as immaculately trimmed and styled – not a hair out of place. In fact, he looked so _not_ like anyone she'd ever met that her suspicion doubled at the prospect that he was to represent a friend.

"No?" Ruefully, he lowered his arms. "It will come in time."

"I thought we were out of time."

"You are. I have absolutely all the time in the universe."

"You say I'm out of time, you look at that _stupid_ watch – but here we are chatting away! I don't think my time is coming up as fast you say it is."

"Why are you so angry?"

"I'm not! I merely – you _frustrate_ me."

"It is because I've turned the tables on you. I'm the one with all the answers." He gave a toothy grin.

"Only because you continue to answer your own questions! Why don't you tell me something useful."

"Like how to get back?"

"You know? You've known how to get out all this time, and you-"

"_Back_. I know how you can get back, just as you do. Just a click of your heels and you're home."

Hermione actually looked down at her feet, scowling after at her own desperate hopefulness. As if he would tell her anything in earnest. She was frustrated and she was tired. The white hurt her eyes. Something about this place was draining her and the man was doing nothing to soothe her stress or assuage her fears. She was so high strung – so frantic to get out – she thought she'd burst.

Her hand sought out the comforting solidity of her wand; fingers clenching tight around it, ready to shout when he stepped up – closer than she liked, closer than normal – and cast his warm eyes on hers.

"You've always had your ruby slippers, Dorothy," he murmured and his gaze lowered. Hermione's followed, hand coming up automatically to her throat before her brain had even processed his fictitious metaphor. Her fingers caught on a thin golden chain and a glittering hour glass spilled out of the neck of her robes.

"The time turner? But I already tried—"

"Did you?"

Hermione's indignation warped to shock: she couldn't remember ever having actually tried going back. Why not? She cupped the Time Turner in her hands and forced herself to think. Think! She couldn't remember-

"You've got to go back."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, the hourglass dropping out of her startled hands as she threw them out to wave off his words. "Back? No! I-I have to go _forward_."

He shook his head and she stumbled back. "But wh--? What am I supposed to do? I can't! They – they know!"

"Live, dear Hermione. Go back and live."

"_What?!_" she screeched, but he'd already reached out and set her time turner spinning.

She shouted against it and fumbled for the chain but the magic could not be reversed. It tumbled end over end in a blurring ball of white light and the world around her ran backwards; her own past movements whirled around her, tiny fairy lights rising and falling. The man alone seem unchanged. The lines of his silhouette jumped and blurred, but he himself was as whole and unchanging as if he too were caught in the spell of the Time Turner.

As she gaped – in confusion, in dismay – he smiled for the last time and it seemed to stretch all the way up into his eyes, making them twinkle like captured stars. She couldn't explain it, but something about him in that moment made her feel just a little less afraid.

"Things will work out." And then he was gone – stepping back and disappearing in flash of light.

Something pulled hard at her back, jerking her up off her feet with a scream. She bounced off the strange ground, tumbled through fog and light and then disappeared.


	18. Returned

**Completed:** 5/10/08 8:03 PM  
**Posted: **5/11/08 10:45 AM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but anything you don't recognize is mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _Yes, I'm back. (At least it's not a year and half like my last hiatus?) The Battle-That-Never-Ends has finally ended and hopefully so will the drama by the next chapter. It's summer – so expect more updates and bully me when I take too long – and feel free to review with what you'd like to see. I aim to please and if your want fits with the storyline it's yours.

Fairly short, but expect another chapter sometime next week.

* * *

"_LEVICORPUS!_"

Harry's wild end-over-end tumble snapped to a dead stop. Three separate levitation spells held fast his limp, dangling body, triangulating and interlocking into a complex knot of magic worthy of a sea-man's praise. Harry hung as though all time and space had stopped dead around him, a macabre chandelier over the fighting below.

Six stories above – in the half-breaths of time surrounding Harry's unexpected leap – a bizarre convergence of events had occurred. Hand shaking slightly and wand trained hard on Harry far below, Remus Lupin's brain tried to figure how so much could have happened so quickly.

Peter's own hasty rush to aid had him nearly falling over the railing himself and now, stomach bent over the banister and wand outstretched, his round face was wonderstruck and filled with shock at his own fortitude. Flanking Remus' other side, and much to his astonishment, stood Lucius Malfoy, his stern face hard as ice and even harder to read.

Thanks to them, Harry was hovering at the first floor and not lying in a heap of broken bones on the foyer floor. While the others had been horrified – too shocked to move, to react – capable only of watching Harry jump, they had instinctively run to him, wands out. Remus let out a low breath that shook before evening out. "James?"

"I-I got them both." His voice cracked. "Is Harry...?"

Shouting from below grabbed the werewolf's attention. His sharp eyes had only just refocused on the scene below when a great burst of purple light shot up at them. Instinctively, his body tensed in preparation for the attack, but the hex never hit. He felt Harry's body jerk under his spell and, realizing his mistake too late, watched the blood spray from Harry's body in a grotesque arc. "JAMES!"

"There." Lucius' even voice overlapped his frantic shout, but before Remus could register who he was speaking to, a second burst of purple light exploded over the werewolf's left shoulder. The Death Eater fell with a scream and was quickly incapacitated by the Order.

"Were you seen?"

"No."

"_PROTEGO!_"

The Shield Charm exploded from James' wand, rocketing past the charm's natural limitations of distance and enveloping Harry in a dim, silver-blue bubble moments before a second curse reached him. The blue light splattered like rotten fruit against the shield and then faded out. If anyone had been capable of casting a Shield Charm that far, it had been James.

Two more hexes burst up – at Harry and at the seventh floor balcony – and while the rest ducked beneath the balustrade, Sirius jumped over them and shot down a curse of his own. His face was hard with raw determination and more than one Death Eater fell under his wand. James' concentration was steady, even as more spells came their way, and more than once one of the castors holding the levitation charm had to jump sideways to avoid burst of crackling green light. Sirius' coverfire was focused solely on protecting Harry.

Harry was unconscious when they levitated him over the railing.

His left hand, burned and blackened, grazed the stone floor with bloody knuckles and then curled softly upwards as the rest of his body was carefully lowered to the ground. James' Shield Charm melted off him and disappeared between the cracks in the floor. Lying there, he could have passed for sleeping. But with his makeshift bandage slipped down across his face, his ruined eye – steeped in blood and spell-scorched flesh – turned towards that softly curled hand, he looked dead. As soon as the glow had left his skin the blood began to flow. It trickled down the sides of his face like crimson tears and bleed out from beneath him like ice on a hot day. His clothes were black with it.

Sirius was the first to his side, shaking hands threading through matted curls. "Gods, is he--?"

"What hit him?" James was yelling and a loud **BOOM!** echoed beneath them.

"I can't tell! There—There's too much blood," Peter choked.

"Wake up, Harry," Sirius whispered over him. "Come on. _Come on_."

Remus fell to his knees beside them, wand hastily gliding back and forth over Harry's body. The blood seemed to slow and then stopped completely, but Remus' wand never stopped moving and moments later, to the onlooker's dismay the blood bubbled up again and spilled out of his wounds like the ocean tide. "I can't!" He was clenching his wand with both hands now. "It's too much for me!"

"Remus _do_ something!"

"I—"

Desperation met dismay; Sirius begging him to save their friend and both knowing it was beyond Remus' skill to heal.

"We don't have time for this," snapped James. "_Harry_ doesn't have time."

Peter got quickly to his feet. "We've gotta get him to the Hospital W—"

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

James and Remus both twisted around, wands raised and ready to strike, and were shocked to see Severus Snape crouching beside Harry's body. Sirius, whose face was purpling with rage, was torn between holding Harry's head and reaching for his wand.

"Sirius, _please_!" Remus begged, but Sirius wasn't listening. "He helped—"

"DON'T YOU DARE—!" But it was too late.

Snape had raised his wand and pointed it at Harry's chest in one fluid movement, saying "_Ennervate!_" under his breath. They held their breath as the soft blue light crackled across his torso and dissolved.

"H-Harry?" Gentle hands touched Harry's face, willing the brunet to open his eyes; for the spell to work. Fingers dug painfully into Sirius' shoulder and he could feel James holding his breath.

"Granger you stupid swot – wake up!" Snape hissed, and jabbed his wand into Harry's side for good measure.

"Leave him alone!" cried Peter. He might actually have hexed Snape if Malfoy hadn't suddenly appeared, buffeting him aside and stopping boldly next to James.

He aimed his wand at Harry. "Again."

Snape nodded and matched his aim; both Slytherin's casting "_Ennervate!_" together. The combined spells hit Harry's heart like a lightening bolt and something like electricity caused him to convulse, his upper body jerking up off the ground in a sickening arch – blood splattering outwards – before he collapsed again.

He lay very still for the longest time and then, timorously, his lashes fluttered across his cheek, his eyebrows twitched, and he opened his eye.

James fell to his knees.

"Thank God..."

"Fucking hell, Harry," Sirius choked. "Don't do that again."

Harry just blinked, lips slightly parted.

Remus' face appeared in his immediate vision, lines of worry etching his brow. "Harry, I need to know – can you feel your legs?"

Nothing.

"Why isn't he talking?"

"Moony?"

"Fucking hell..."

"Thank God, thank _God_..."

"I-I think he's in shock," Remus ventured. "I don't know if it's safe to move him."

"We can't leave him here!" Peter argued.

"Harry, please. Please say something," whispered James. He looked scared to touch him, to _breathe_ – as if Harry's battered body was only a breath away from breaking.

They'd all turned to watch him – kneeling in despair beside Harry's body, all bravado and haughtiness gone. His face was lined with pain, but there was a tenderness there that Remus had never seen before and a knot caught in his throat. James' dark hair was falling into his eyes, but he didn't care – all his attention was on Harry as he finally, gingerly, reached out to touch his bruised hand.

"Moony, he...he can't yell at us all by himself." James fought to smile, choking out the words as his voice finally broke. "_Please_..."

Hesitant to break the moment, Remus softly asked again. "Harry. It's imperative we know how badly you've been hurt – if you can feel your legs..." Harry's gaze was now on him and the emptiness there made his chest ache. "If you can...blink once for yes, twice for no."

It seemed to take days for Harry to blink.

"Help me get him up," said James and, between him and Sirius, got their friend to his feet. The brunet stumbled under his own weight and was steadied only by Sirius' sturdy frame when the taller boy stooped slightly to loop Harry's arm over his shoulders.

* * *

James did the same on her other side but Hermione had to assure herself of it by feeling alone: she was completely blind on the left. Through it all her legs burned, blood dripping down her thighs like hot wax, and she had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming. Mercifully, under the support of the taller boys, her feet barely skimmed the ground; half-suspended between them she desperately fought a second wave of darkness.

Nauseated by the sudden movements and sensory overload, she fought not to vomit. Her head felt heavy even as she struggled to lift it and saw _Lucius_? She blinked rapidly – confused and disoriented, she must have imagined the blond's face. But when she looked again, Severus was standing beside him, both Slytherins looking awkward and out of place amidst their disheveled rivals. Then the darker of the two fixed his sharp eyes on her and the reasons for their presence were suddenly insignificant. They were there.

And that was enough.

"_Gone._"

"Harry!" James' voice broke with relief. "We've got you, it's okay now, don't—"

"It's gone," she rasped; she wouldn't have recognized her own voice if it hadn't been for James. "_All of it._"

"Harry...what-?" Remus' question trailed off, his concern for the brunet turning to something indistinguishable when he realized exactly who he was addressing.

Searching the depths of Snape's eyes, Hermione felt the weight of her own words sink in and was hard-pressed to keep the tears from overtaking her. His gaunt features were easily schooled into apathy, but he was incapable of maintaining that indifference in his eyes. She could see the confusion there, suspicion too, as he worked over her words. She pushed him to understand, to realize the true implications of what she was telling him if only so that she wouldn't be alone. It was selfish and it was cruel, but she needed him to know what she'd done.

His eyes dipped to the golden hourglass around her neck.

She was watching when the confusion became clarity. When shock and apprehension made his eyes go dark.

She'd destroyed the future. Her parents would never give birth to her; her house on Gardenia Road would never be built, never be filled with all her relics from the wizarding world. Her _life_ was gone – wiped clean as if it had never existed. But it didn't stop there, it wasn't just _her_ existence that was gone. _Everything_ had disappeared. Neville, harry, Hogwarts, London, the _world_.

The future had been snuffed out like a candle.

"Oh…_God_." She choked. _What have I done?_

She sagged forward, her legs – and her heart – giving out. James stumbled slightly and had to grab her hand before her arm slid completely off his shoulders. On her other side Sirius placed a cautiously bracing hand against her back. Blood was pooling under her feet when James could no longer bear it. It was as he and Sirius were tugging her forward, that Severus met her eyes again and quietly said, "They're taking you to the Infirmary."

"_NO!_"

Her shout echoed like cannon in the empty hall and she wrenched back so suddenly, and with such alarming force, that Sirius and James lost their grip. Hermione's damaged legs buckled and twisted awkwardly over one another and she fell, her back slamming into the stony floor.

She screamed.

She screamed and screamed in gut-wrenching agony. She shrieked until her voice broke and the sounds coming from her were more animal than human. Stars burst into supernova across her vision and tears poured from her eyes; screaming and crying and fighting to stay conscious through the pain.

And then when she no longer had the voice to cry out, when her throat was rasped raw and her lungs were empty, she lay very still upon the floor. Her lips parted but she hadn't even the strength to gasp for air.

Hands were on her face, people were crouching around her, but it was hard, _so_ _hard_, to focus. Someone must have cast a mild healing charm because a faint chill slipped through her body and the burning heat that festered in her bones lessened. The pressure on her chest lightened and air whistled past her open lips.

"H--ry? Ha--can y--me?"

"H-lp -- li--"

Their voices cut in and out like static. Her vision went from white to black and somewhere in between. She wanted to throw up. It had been so instinctive – even with the future gone, her _life_ made non-existent – she had cried out. Her secret must be kept, must never be revealed to anyone else; she clung to it in desperation.

It was all she had left.

More hands were pulling at her, fingers working under her shoulders, her knees; hands trying to pick her up. She tried to slap them away but her left hand was useless, the other weakened. "N-No..."

The taste of iron was heavy in her mouth. When fingers grazed her cheek she felt them slip across the slick trickle of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

"I--kay."

The ground fell away beneath her and the room began to spin as her body was lifted into the air. One final protest caught in her throat, a strangled, dying groan, and then she was drifting into darkness.

* * *

Hermione regained consciousness to the sound of shouting.

Her head felt like it was filled with smoke and the urge to sleep was strong, but she fought against it. She heard the garbled voices as though her ears were stuffed with cotton and her eyes refused to open under iron lids, but the smell of antiseptic was overpowering.

She was in the Hospital Wing.

"No…" her plea was soft, uttered instinctively but unheard. "_No_..."

"Get out! Let me work!"

Her stomach lurched, body twisting against her will, and then she was sinking into starchy sheets she'd been carried here by hands, not by spell. Eyes shuttering open, she saw Pomfrey bending over her, saw Sirius yelling – at who? – and then her eyes fell shut again. She tried to twist away, whimpering in pain, but hands were instantly on her, keeping her steady, keeping her calm.

"I'm here to help you."

Pomfrey's face flooded her vision and Hermione had to fight not to pass out. "M-my..wand?"

Peter appeared on her other side, and though she knew he was terrified, he barely showed it. "It's here, Harry. I-I've got it—"

"All of you – _get out!_ Shock will push him into a coma – I need to subdue him!"

"_NO!_"

Hermione slapped the wand out from her hand.

Pomfrey staggered into the curtains as her wand sailed across the room and all the Marauders – save Peter – jumped back in surprise. Hermione had twisted, grabbing for her wand still held in Peter's outstretched fist, and he fell against the bed as she forcibly ripped it from his grasp. All color was gone from her face.

"Harry, wha—"

"Unbreakable—an Unbr-Unbreakable Vow," she stammered, awkwardly brandishing her wand at the mediwitch. "S-Secrecy."

"Don't be ridiculous!" blustered Pomfrey – face reddening. Overcoming her shock, she hurried after her lost wand.

Anger surged in Hermione – at the dismissal, at her own helplessness – and when Remus made a covert attempt at disarming her, her wand tip exploded with amber sparks. "_S-Swear it!_" Dizziness struck her.

"Can't…know." Her mouth could barely form the words; they came out mumbled and hardly coherent. "_Swear_."

"Please, Harry—" he stepped into her line of sight, but Harry didn't want to look at James, didn't want those hazel eyes to lock with hers, wheedling her into submission. "You're hurt..."

A myriad of caustic remarks blew through her mind but none made it to her lips; her mouth was flooded with the acrid tang of iron. She had no voice left to speak and could only gape in horror as her wand fell into her lap. Her hand had rebelled against her, a spreading numbness sapping the strength and dexterity from her fingers.

"Harry?"

"He's going into shock!"

Sweat broke out across Hermione's brow; fever spiking suddenly as her body shut down. She wasn't cognizant of the shaking in her wandhand nor the shouts of the Marauders. The fever had settled in her brain; nerves short-circuiting. As the tremors started in her legs the muscles in her chest seized and she stopped breathing.

Her body arced off the bed, limbs convulsing in grotesque pantomime as she scrabbled for air, her lips were blue. Skin cracked as she thrashed wildly about; wounds reopened and blood stained the sheets.

She was unconscious when the seizures began.

* * *

To the **77** people who have reviewed: _Wow! Your support – from gentle chiding to crying pleads to outright threats – has been monumentally helpful in keeping D&C alive. Uni has been beyond stressful and there's hardly been time for me to step back and redesign the plot of D&C, which was absolutely necessary to do before I continued. There is now a somewhat level path left before me, with some gapping chasms before we reach the end, but that means I'll be having just as much fun as the rest of you seeing what befalls our gender-bending heroine. With summer now upon us, my hope is that the words flow easily, the muses smile down on me, and we can get a fair number of chapters crunched out in the coming months._

_Be ready for humor and Marauding high-jinx next chapter. The drama stops here._

_#17's Best Review: _**Wistful-Stargazer**


	19. The Aftermath

**Completed:** 06/21/08 7:03 PM  
**Posted: **06/29/08 6:20PM

_Title:_ Deception & Concealment  
_Author:_ KissThis  
_Rating_: PG-13/T language, partial nudity, "adult themes/humor"

_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing Harry Potter related, but anything you don't recognize is mine.

_Pairing:_ HxJxS

_A/N: _I should really stop lying. As soon as I give an ETP, all creativity goes out of my brain. I'm still not really happy with this chapter, but ah well. At least it's gotten the story out of the death and mayhem bit. Expect some "just live, Hermione" chapters to follow. :

* * *

Hermione awoke to find herself tucked securely into her hospital bed and the curtained screens drawn all around her. Despite the moonlight filtering from the windows above her head, she felt as though she'd only just closed her eyes. The searing pain from before had dulled to a muted ached and it was easier to think without it. Her left eye was freshly bandaged; she squirmed a hand out of the iron lock of the sheets to run her fingers over the gauze and found that Pomfrey had managed to staunch the flow of blood and worse.

Already half-blind and in the dark, Hermione fell back on her hearing. A glass of something dark fizzed softly on her bedside table and a bird squawked outside. But there were no snores or rustles of cloth to indicate the Hospital Wing had any other patients, nor the sound of footsteps to suggest that Pomfrey was patrolling. Kicking, tugging, pushing, she slowly extricated herself from the starch-frozen sheets and mounds of blankets. The effort made her slightly dizzy, but she didn't think it bad enough to be a deterrent. The hospital gown bunched around her waist as she swung her legs over the side; she'd been stripped and her breasts unbound. If she couldn't get back to the future, she'd escape to Hogsmeade, head to London, and then remain there until she could manufacture a way home.

She was fumbling for her wand when one of the screens was jarred aside and Pomfrey appeared, lantern in hand.

Hermione froze. Her wand was still un-located and though she was not above employing physical means to subdue the mediwitch, it was far more likely she'd be Petrified for her troubles and trapped here regardless.

"You're awake."

Nodding stiffly, Hermione pulled her legs back underneath her and looked away. "I don't suppose you swore the Vow before I passed out, did you?" though hoarse with sleep and thirst, the voice was her own. There was no point in denying what had been seen.

"No." Pomfrey half-shuttered her lantern so that only a sliver of warm orange light leaked out. "I was a tad busy restarting your heart," she quipped tersely. It was so like the mediwitch Hermione nearly laughed; it stuck in her throat.

"You're welcome, by the way," pressed Pomfrey.

"...thank you."

Frowning hard enough to crease her forehead, Madame Pomfrey withdrew a small blue vial from the pocket of her dressing robe and pressed it matter-of-factly into Hermione's open hand.

"Drink that."

Hermione paused, trying to ascertain the potion's identity with her good eye. "What is it?"

"Pumpkin juice."

There was no hint of jest in the woman's face, just impatience. Though much younger than the mediwitch from Hermione's childhood, this Madame Pomfrey was just as brusque and decidedly more brazen than her future self.

"How long have I been out?" Hermione asked.

Pomfrey made a noise and gestured to the potion, waiting for her to obligingly swallow what was a truly foul-tasting potion before she would answer.

"Four days."

"_What?_" too shocked to argue, Hermione allowed the older woman to pull the sheets back to order and up over her legs. "That's—" she grasped for words "—not _possible_."

"Neither is playing a boy for six months," countered Pomfrey, prodding her to lie down. "Yet here we are."

Hermione's lips twisted downward, but she couldn't muster a retort – the "pumpkin juice" was taking effect. Pomfrey pulled the blankets all the way up to her chin. Turning onto her side, Hermione whispered, "Who knows?"

"No one."

The answer was so unexpected that Hermione had started to ask again when Pomfrey interrupted her.

"Your body went into shock and I threw your companions out." She began to tuck the sheets in around her but Hermione didn't mind. "Admirable though their devotion was, conducive to medical procedures they are not."

Hermione squashed down the hope threatening to mislead her. "They weren't—"

"No Miss Granger. They were not here when I discovered you."

Hermione felt very, very sleepy. And extremely relieved. But doubt was inescapable and it lingered even after Pomfrey stood back, retrieving her lantern from the bedside table. Pomfrey seemed to sense this because she paused, hands on the screen.

"Your secret is safe with me," she swore quietly. "I am oathbound as a Healer – I will not reveal you."

Experience told her otherwise. Oaths could be broken, trusts betrayed. The lantern shuttered shut and Hermione sighed softly into the dark.

"I wish I could believe you."

* * *

She awoke at a proper hour the next morning, sunlight replacing moonlight in a bright swath across her bed. She squirmed and stretched under the subtle warmth of the skylight above and turned her head into her pillow before the tickle in her nose became a full blown sneeze. To open her eyes now, would be to ruin the tranquil peace of the moment. Never since she had come to the past had she been free for so long of the harsh bandages – crushing her ribs, hampering her breathing – and she reveled in the freedom.

"Awake again, I see."

Hermione tensed but didn't open her eyes. She breathed in deep – the smell of starch and antiseptic, but also the crisp tang of air from an open window – and rolled over. Pomfrey was still there when she opened her eye, hands on her hips and leveling a most stern look on Hermione.

"Drink your medicine – and no arguing, now."

Hermione pushed up to her elbows, her eyes falling dubiously on the dark potion that was still fizzing on her bedside table. As she eyed it, the black gunk bubbled and popped, letting off a foul stench. "You expect me to drink _that_?"

"Not that," snapped Pomfrey and thrust a smoking glass into Hermione's hand. "_That_. And what did I say about arguing?"

Hermione actually blushed. "Sorry," she mumbled. Now forced into sitting up, she threw back a great deal of the potion before she could think better of it and was surprised when it tasted mildly sweet; the smoke frothing against her lips like hot chocolate. Swallowing, she gestured to the black potion. "What's that for then?"

"It's _not_ for drinking." Pulling her wand from the waistband of her Healer robes, Pomfrey leaned over and prodded the gunk, rather indelicately given the content; a bright brown eye bumped against the side of the glass before sinking back to the bottom. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"_You've got to be kidding me_…"

Pomfrey shook the glass 'til it was properly fizzing again then pocketed her wand. "Someone did a fair number on you with that Conjunctivis Curse. The only way to work on it properly was to take it out."

Hermione's hand went instinctively to her eye, fingers probing the bandaged hollow in her face. She aimed for nonchalance, though her voice cracked. "You _can_ get it back in, right?"

Pomfrey bristled with indignation. "Do not insult me, Miss Granger. It won't be of much use if I don't fix it first."

She forced her hand back into her lap; her nails grazed the lip of the cup she still held. "Can you...I mean, _is_ it fixable?"

Pomfrey hesitated. It was the barest of pauses, but Hermione caught it nonetheless and drowned her sudden spike of fear in the last swallow of her potion. "Several Healers from St. Mungos have been by – ridiculous, though! As if I need help treating my own patients." She shook her head at the idea, fussing over Hermione. "You'll be fine lass, none to worry."

She set the empty potion glass on the table and tried not to touch the damaged side of her face. Her fingers itched to probe the eyeless socket now a potentially permanent fixture of her face but she resisted. She also fought back the urge to retch. "How long until I can be released?"

"Is that the only question I'm to be asked?" snapped Pomfrey. "Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, your friends, _you_ – if people would stop pestering me—"

"_Dum_-" Hermione choked on the name. McGonagall.

"_**You can be sure that when this is over, Granger, we'll be having a very serious talk."**_

Would she even have a chance to sneak out? To get to Hogsmeade and apparate away? London was no longer an option – too close, too near Dumbledore's reach. She'd go to Germany; hide in the forests of the centaurs. It would be dangerous – they despised wizards, especially now – but what better place to hide from the headmaster's interrogation. She could go to Egypt. It had always been a central hub for merchants and traders and the nefarious underbelly of commerce; there she could _disappear_. Blend into the sand and the caravans and vanish completely. Yes. She would go to Egypt...

"They snuck in that first night – those boys of yours," the older woman was saying. "Left you that before I could run them off."

Hermione's eyes followed the gesture, but only at another impatient wave from Madame Pomfrey did she lean over the edge of her cot and gently draw open the drawer of her bedside table. _Hogwarts: A History_ lay inside.

Despite her deep-seated panic, an unbidden smile blossomed across her face. Her fingers danced fondly over the leather bindings, catching in the embossed letters and idly thumbing through the crisp pages. The parchment crinkled under her nails and let off a puff of musty scent. She pulled it onto her lap. "They must have been furious..." she murmured.

Pomfrey's lips quirked up in a wry grin. "_Livid_."

Hermione laughed and was gifted with a rare chuckle from the mediwitch before the woman regained her composure and began fussing over her again. Hermione sat up properly, so Pomfrey could change the dressings on her wand arm – the blistered burns that had marred her now reduced to smooth and dark magenta skin under the witch's talented skills; she doubted if it would scar at all.

"That must have been some piece of magic you put up to keep the Marauders out of the Wing," she commented, gritting her teeth as a salve – that fluctuated between freezing and burning – was spread across her half-healed arm.

"I graduated from Hogwarts too, you know," Pomfrey reminded her gruffly. "And you don't get by working here for so many years without learning a trick or two."

She summoned a fresh roll of bandages from across the Wing and set about re-wrapping Hermione's arm from elbow to fingertips. When she was finished, she gave her patient a blanket to hold to her chest as she inspected her back – bruises and cuts that Hermione didn't remember receiving were apparently healing quite nicely. Hands twined together beneath her legs, Hermione rested her chin upon her raised knees, offering up the smooth curve of her back to Pomfrey's prodding fingers.

Her breasts were pressed against the tops of her thighs and nestled between them was the cold and angular shape of the Time Turner. So used to the dull weight of it she hadn't noticed until now.

Holding the blanket to her chest with one hand, she pulled the golden chain and its dangling ornament free while Pomfrey re-laced her hospital gown with deft efficacy. Staring through the gold and glass, to the tiny glittering flakes of sand, she wondered what might happen if she tried it again.

"You wouldn't let me take it from you—" Pomfrey's voice startled her. "—even half-drugged you fought me; luckily it didn't react dodgy with any of the spells I used or you'd not be here."

Hermione was uncertain how to answer. "It is...precious to me."

"Well I'd already riddled _that_ out," was Pomfrey's derisive answer. She sighed – asking with a gesture to check the dressings on her upper legs. "I suppose I cannot divest you of all your secrets at once."

Hermione's answer was a bitter laugh. The mediwitch was thoroughly tending to her when the pair and the solitude of quiet Infirmary were disturbed by the cacophonic **BANG! **of the double doors being thrown open and ricocheting off the walls. Both women jumped, but Pomfrey was already up and hurrying around the drawn curtains when a yell for "Madame Pomf—" was cut short by sudden retching.

Curious, Hermione slipped silently off the bed and peered through a gap in the curtained screens. Pomfrey was dragging a sickly looking Gryffindor to one of the beds near the door – a first year named Timothy Newtgrass. He'd done a truly spectacular job of vomiting all across the entry way.

Hermione was just about to slip back into bed when she glimpsed the oddest thing. The door, which was in the process of closing, suddenly stopped moving for the smallest of instants – as if something was in its way. Then the heavy door was gliding shut and Hermione had to reassure herself that she'd seen it pause at all. But it had and therefore could mean only one thing: The Marauders.

Pomfrey returned almost immediately – having shooed the boy off with a potion – and was startled to see Hermione out of bed; however, her indignant cry was cut short as Hermione mimed silence with a finger to her lips. "They're here."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Pomfrey exclaimed as Hermione clambered quickly back into bed.

"It's alright," said Hermione. "I ought to talk to them for a bit. Or you'll never get a moment's peace," she added. Pomfrey looked less than pleased about the idea, but threw another blanket over the girl's thin sheets anyway, burying any vestige of Hermione's chest beneath lumpy brown fleece. Retrieving the empty glass from the table, Pomfrey shot her a stern look before making a retreat to her office, leaving Hermione to receive her invisible visitors.

She didn't have long to wait before the curtains parted of their own accord. With a gallant sweeping off of the cloak, the four Marauders stood at her bedside.

"Hullo," she said.

Sirius' face fell. "You're not surprised?"

She raised an eyebrow, fixing them with a look. "Did you pay that first year to fling open the doors like that or was he truly ill?"

It was Remus who answered, looking sheepish. "James promised him his autograph."

Hermione laughed. She laughed so loudly and so gaily that Peter fell off his stool and Sirius gave him a smack for being so loud.

"You're...alright, then...?"

Hermione met James' anxious eyes and smiled. "Of course," she said, surprised at how easily the lie fell from her mouth in Harry's voice. Pomfrey may have been optimistic about her bodily health, but she hardly felt fine _inside_. The Time Turner hung heavy around her neck.

"Takes more than a few scratches to take down a Gryffindor, eh?"

Sirius mustered half a laugh, but Peter looked more anxious than ever. "You had a lot more than a few..." he said softly.

_Oh, Peter_. Hermione shifted into a better sitting position, keeping her blankets close, and waited until she'd caught his eyes before smiling. "Pomfrey's not half-bad at this," she joked lightly. "So don't be stealing my chocolate frogs just yet, hmm?"

"About that..."

"James you didn't!" hissed Remus; Hermione couldn't help it – she burst out laughing again.

"If he'd have found my secret stash," she said, through a smile. "He wouldn't be telling _you_."

Sirius winked at her. Remus, having turned slightly pink, shot a glare at a grinning James who seemed quite pleased to have succeeded at his mission of making Harry smile. Truly, it was hard not to laugh when you had the Marauders at your bedside – not even able to stave off their squabbling to be concerned for more than a minute.

"Did it really take you four days to break Pomfrey's wards?" she asked, curiously.

"James got us thrown—"

"If Sirius would've just—"

"Tried chucking Wormtail through the win—"

"Completely Remus' fault—"

It took another five minutes for her to stop their bickering – during which Remus shot sparks dangerously near Sirius hair and Peter was talking so quickly his rounded face was turning purple. Obviously, their inability to break the wards was tantamount to injured pride and none were willing to take the blame for being bested by the castle's medi-witch.

"Okay, okay, I get it! Shut up, the lot of you, or Pomfrey will hear," she cut in, her last comment sufficient enough to silence them. "It's not what I really wanted to know, anyway. What I _want_ is to know what happened on that balcony."

Chaos erupted. Everyone was talking at once and a second round of bickering quickly ensued as the quartet rallied around their own respective versions of the story, each appalled at how the others could have so grossly misinterpreted the events. She caught words like "Death Eater" and "jump" but nothing coherent enough to expand on her fractured memories. Finally, she'd had enough.

"Stop, _stop!_ I want to hear it from Remus."

Peter sat down heavily on his stool; Sirius and James looked gob-smacked. For his own part, the lanky brunet seemed more relieved than shocked. Hermione supposed that after being friends with Sirius and James for seven years, he was accustomed to being the voice of reason.

"How much do you remember?" he asked.

For the first time, Hermione actually thought about what had occurred there and what had almost happened to her. Flickers and clips of sound filtered back through her mind but all she could remember clearly was the taste of blood in her mouth and the burn of adrenaline overloading her veins. She shook her head.

"Bits and pieces."

Remus dragged a stool up alongside her bed and cleared his throat. "We were chased out of the passage by three Death Eaters – remember? That's where you met us."

She did. Supported by James' shorter frame with blood streaking down his face, Remus had looked near death. She told him as much and the prefect smiled. "I'm much better now."

"We'd just come from charming the fifth floor windows," Peter supplied helpfully.

Just as she had then, Hermione spoke without realizing. "Tonks!"

"We're never gonna get the story out at this rate," interjected James.

Remus rolled his eyes and kicked James in the shins under the cot. To Hermione he said, "She's fine too, Harry. She got away."

"Not a scratch on her," confirmed Sirius. "And desperate to see you. Had to promise her half of Moony's chocolate stash to keep her from narking on us when James here told her she couldn't come with..."

He trailed off – caught unexpectedly off-guard by the pure, unadulterated look of relief that flooded Harry's face. Her lips mouthed the words "thank god" but no sound came out and Sirius felt his breath catch uncomfortably in his chest as Harry's relief bloomed into a brilliant smile. Vaguely, he was aware of the others speaking, of Remus taking up his story again, but his mind was processing everything in slow motion – like the fact that he might be in love with Harry.

Remus was talking again. "You came out of it and Sirius was, he was yelling..."

"I remember your face," she spoke as if in a daze, lost as she tried to muddle through her fractured memories. "The look you gave me – as if you were trying to tell me something..."

"I was." Remus hesitated here and when Hermione urged him to continue it was Sirius who spoke.

"Snivellus and Malfoy."

"_What?_"

"They double-backed and followed us down," supplied Remus. "I don't know why."

"To help their slimy Death Eater friends," growled Sirius.

He was duly ignored.

"_They saved your life_," Remus told her in earnest.

And then James, who had been unusually quiet up until now, shoved back the screen with an angry scrapping and walked off. While Hermione could only gape, Peter hurried to stand. "James! The cloak!" he hissed.

"Stuff it!"

Peter stumbled back onto his stool.

"Pomfrey will have heard that," muttered Remus, who was already on his feet, picking up the cloak.

"Wait, wait!" she insisted. "What was _that_ about? And you haven't finished telling me what happened."

"Tomorrow," he said. "I promise."

"_Tomorrow?_ Remus--!"

"Stop screeching, Henrietta," scolded Sirius. "Do you want Pomfrey to hear or what?"

"You can't—don't—"

"See you tomorrow" and Sirius' grinning face disappeared beneath the invisibility cloak.

"You can't just leave me…like this…" But all three had already vanished under the cloak, only the gallant sweeping aside of the curtains indicating there was anyone else besides her in the Wing. She listened to the soft whisper of their shoes against the stone floor as the curtain drifted lazily back into place, her mind whirling.

Hermione waited until the door clicked shut before she deemed it was safe to call for Madame Pomfrey. No sooner had she opened her mouth to do so, however, than James reappeared; he didn't give her a chance to speak. Without a word he dove forward and crashed his mouth into hers. He kissed her as he'd never done before and she had to grab his tie to keep from falling. It was as though he'd saved all his short, fiery kisses and was now passing them on in one burning hot meeting of lips. When he finally pulled back, she was left in a giddy daze; her lips burning.

It was a struggle to keep her eyes off the tantalizing curve of his mouth. "You'll be caught," she whispered, her voice wanton and breathless.

"Sod Pomfrey," he rasped. "I had to see you. Alone."

And then Hermione did something she probably shouldn't have: with her fingers still tangled in the silk of his tie, she pulled him half-over the bed and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Surely out of her mind, she yearned for him to touch her, to crawl up beside her and make her body burn. But he didn't. He met her mouth's ever maneuver in passionate symmetry but didn't touch her.

"I'm fine," she breathed across his lips; begging, urging.

A noise – caught halfway between a groan and a laugh – echoed in her ear as James hung his head, bangs brushing her shoulder. "Don't tempt me, Harry..."

_Harry._

Good Lord - she'd gone mad.

Very carefully, she lowered her hands to the bed and gently scooted back against the pillows and away from James' looming form. His cheeks were flushed and perspiration had begun to form at his temples. His hands clenched against the bedsheets and Hermione eyed him as though he were a feral animal preparing to pounce.

"Any chance you could...'hold that thought'?" he asked, wincing at the obvious wariness in her wide eyes.

"No."

"Bullocks." He grimaced and hung his head. "So...I just blew my only chance at molesting you..."

She had to bite her lip to keep a blossoming grin in check. "Yes."

"_Bullocks_," he cursed again.

"You're too much of a gentleman, Mr. Potter."

James snorted. "S'never been my problem before."

Hermione's soft laughter floated above them. She raked her wild curls out of her eyes and matched James' hesitant smile. "You should probably go..." she said gently. "Think of all the mischief they're causing without you."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Harrietta?"

She smirked. "If only it was that easy."

He surged forward to kiss her again, but she dodged him, laughing. His lips grazed along her jaw as he missed and he nipped the soft skin there in retaliation. She snorted trying to hold in her laughter and pushed at his chest. "I should just let you get caught," she said amidst his many attempts to kiss her neck. "If you're in detention, then you're out of my hair."

James laughed too, catching her mouth while she was distracted and in the space of a breath nearly turned her into a puddle of mush. Nearly. "I wouldn't dream of depriving you of my glorious presence and godly good-looks." The damnable pride was back in his voice and if he'd been walking there'd have been a swagger in his step – but in this moment she didn't mind so much.

"Go away," she whispered.

"You're a hard sell, Granger," he whispered back.

"I'm in a hospital bed, you moron."

"Technicalities."

"_Get out_."

He blew out a great, exaggerated puff of air. "Gone," he conceded, pushing off the bed. He took a few steps and then spun around with a snap of his fingers; grinning like a fool. "But tomorrow..."

"You'll be back?"

"Well, since you asked..."

He gave her one last grin and disappeared.


End file.
